


Ever After

by tricia_16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Double Life, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Time, Historical Inaccuracies, M/M, Miscommunication, Prince Dean Winchester, Servant Castiel, Top Dean Winchester, Virgin Castiel, Virgin Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 23:09:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15205526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricia_16/pseuds/tricia_16
Summary: A retelling, of sorts, of the popular movieEver After: A Cinderella Storyusing the characters from Supernatural.





	1. Chapter 1

Castiel nods weakly when the two men walk into his bedroom.

“The Brothers Grimm, Your Majesty,” his caretaker tells him.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Castiel responds, internally cursing at how frail his voice is these days.

“Your Majesty,” one of them replies, curiosity evident in his gaze even with his poor eyesight.

“I suppose you’re wondering why a man of my age would request an audience with the author of children’s stories,” Castiel says with a small smile.

“Your letter was most intriguing,” the other brother responds.

“I find your collection of folk tales quite brilliant, to be honest with you,” Castiel tells them.

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“However, I must admit I was quite... disturbed... when I read your version of _The Little Cinder Girl.”_ He smiles to himself. Even now, there are some who insist that their version of the woman, the tiny fairy godmother, and the pumpkins, for heaven’s sake, are closer to the truth than the events he lived through himself. After all, how could a king fall in love with a commoner, and male one at that?

“Might I inquire about the painting, your highness?” one of the brothers asks him, gesturing towards a painting of his younger self, clad with white wings. “It’s really quite, er...”

“That,” Castiel says fondly, “was Count Charles Shurley.” He pulls out a long, white feather from his bedside, still flecked with shimmering powder after all these years. “And this was a feather from his wings that night.”

“Then it’s true? The story?” the first brother asks.

“Yes, absolutely,” Castiel responds. “And I’d very much like to tell you all about it.” He pauses to think for a moment. “Now, what is it - that phrase you use? Ah yes! Once upon a time, there lived a young boy who loved his father very much...”

* * *

 

“Oh, Bobby! It feels just like Christmas!” Castiel exclaims excitedly. “I get a mother and two brothers all in the same day! The Baroness will be in our home, Bobby! In our home!”

Bobby’s trying to force a comb through the young boy’s hair, but he won’t sit still for anything. “Oh, hold still, Castiel! This hair of yours will be the end of me!” Castiel stills immediately, such a good little child he is. “The master does deserve some happiness after all this time on his own, raising a son all alone. She must be a sight.”

“Oh, I do hope she likes me,” Castiel says nervously.

Bobby smooths the wild hair he can never get to settle. “She’ll love you. Just be the little angel I know is in there somewhere,” he teases gruffly. Castiel laughs, a sound as beautiful as the bells at Heaven’s gate, and he continues, “And don’t go eating the bones at dinner and giving yourself away.”

Suddenly, there’s a banging on the door. Castiel and Bobby both look up to see young Balthazar walk through the doorway.

“Balthazar, I told you not today!” Bobby begins.

“Balthy!” Castiel calls happily, popping up out of his chair to run over to his friend.

“Boy! Your father will be here any moment, and your hair -”

“You look ridiculous all dressed up like that,” Balthazar laughs.

“Ridiculous or not, I could still whip you,” Castiel insists, grinning.

“Hah! In your dreams, fancy pants,” Balthazar argues.

A servant enters the room and warns them, “It’s the master, Bobby, look smart now.”

Wanting to surprise his father, he runs off to hide behind the largest piece of furniture in the room.

“Welcome home, Monsieur Shurley,” Bobby greets him warmly. “I see you’ve brought us a Baroness.”

“I have brought you an entire household, Bobby,” Charles answers fondly, and Castiel feels happiness race through his entire body. That voice is the single best sound in the entire world, as far as he’s concerned. And oh, does he sound happy! “But I seem to be missing a son.”

Not able to wait another moment, Castiel pops up from his hiding spot and runs towards his father, but stops short when he sees a tall, rather severe looking woman at his father’s side. His eyes go wide and he ducks his head, not at all sure how to act with this woman standing there, but still wanting to be in his father’s arms more than anything.

“Oh, Charles. He’s absolutely charming, really,” the Baroness says quietly.

He chances a look up and sees his father wink at him, and that’s all he can take. “Papa!” he exclaims, and closes the distance between them at a run, throwing himself into his father’s arms.

“Oh, Castiel,” his father breathes happily, wrapping his strong arms around him and kissing the side of his head. “A foot taller than when I left you, I’m sure,” he says, the same thing he says every time he returns home. “I bet your friend Balthy’s around here hiding somewhere, too, isn't he?”

“No, sir, I slaughtered him,” Castiel says seriously, getting a round of laughter from his father but an odd squeak from the Baroness.

“Oh! He’s...”

“I suppose you did,” his father says, playing along and interrupting his new wife. “And here I had hoped to present a wee gentleman, but I suppose you’ll have to do as you are,” he jokes, making Castiel smile so big he’s afraid his face might split in two. His father stands and pulls him against his leg as his big hand rests on his shoulder. “May I present the Baroness Naomi DeGhent, and her sons, Michael and Gabriel.”

Castiel looks up at the woman with her dark hair pulled tight into a bun and waits.

She smiles, though it doesn't seem to reach her eyes, and says, “Hello, Castiel. Finally, we meet. Your father speaks of nothing else.” Castiel looks up at his father and beams at him. “Boys, meet your new stepbrother.”

For the first time, Castiel looks past the woman and sees two young boys standing there, dressed in much fancier clothes than his. One has an impish smile to his lips and Castiel immediately gets the impression that he and Balthy will get along just fine, but the other has a coldness coming off of him in waves, and his smile, when it comes, sends a shiver down his spine.

“Monsieur,” they both say in unison, and Castiel tries to hide his frown. Must they be so formal if they’re family?

Later that night, his father leads him into his bedroom and gets him under the covers. Before he can open his mouth to ask which book he’s brought back from his journey, his father says, _“Utopia.”_ Castiel’s eyebrows pinch together at the unfamiliar term, and his father ruffles his hair, messing it the way they both like it the most. “It means paradise. It might be a bit advanced for an eight year old, but we could add it to our library for when you grow.”

“Will you read some?” Castiel asks.

“It’s very late,” his father answers.

Castiel sighs unhappily. “And you’re a husband now.”

“And I’m a husband now,” his father confirms, and Castiel can’t keep the pout off of his face. “But a father, first and forever,” he says, tipping his chin up to force eye contact. “We’ve been two peas in a pod, you and I, for a long time now. I suppose all of this will take some getting used to.”

Having the opening he’d been waiting for all night, he asks, “Did you see the way they ate their supper?” His father’s eyes light up with laughter, and he knows it's safe to continue. “It was perfect! Like a dance!”

His father’s laugh rumbles through him, filling him up like a warm drink, and he sinks back further into his pillow. “Do you like them?” his father asks.

Michael hadn’t said much, but Gabriel seemed nice, and he knows how important it is to his father that they all get along. “Very much,” he lies.

“Good, good. Because in the morning I have to go to Avignon for a fortnight.”

Castiel’s heart drops into his stomach. “But you just got back!”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Castiel.”

“For how long?”

His father avoids his eyes when he says, “Oh, not... not too long. Only three weeks.”

Three weeks!? “One!” he argues.

“Two.”

“One!” he insists.

“T-two,” his father responds, but he’s wavering.

Castiel can feel his bottom lip trembling with the effort not to cry. He just got his father back, he has to share him with his wife for the first time, and now he’s going to leave again when he only just returned? 

“Alright, one,” his father relents, and Castiel surges up to wrap his arms around his neck, all thoughts of unhappiness gone when he's enveloped in his embrace.

“Come on now, time for bed.” His father tucks him in again, and kisses him on the top of the head the way he always does before bed. “Sleep tight, Castiel.”

The next morning dawns much too soon for Castiel’s liking. He hardly got any time with his father at all, and now it’s time for him to leave again.

After his father kisses each of them on the cheek (Castiel’s heart soars when he realizes he’s the only one who gets a kiss on the top of his head, too), his father looks at his new family and laughs.

“I’ve never seen so many gloomy faces around here! Remember, I will be back in a week,” he says firmly.

“Then go,” the Baroness says. Castiel gives her a sharp look and she continues, “The sooner you leave, the sooner we can celebrate your return.” Oh. That isn’t so bad, then.

His father looks at Naomi with softness in his eyes. “Perhaps by then, the three of you will know each other better.” Then he crouches down and gets eye level with Castiel. “Okay? I’m counting on you to teach them the ropes around here.” He glances up at his wife again, but then looks back with his eyes dancing with laughter. “The Baroness isn’t used to getting her hands dirty.” He drops one more kiss on top of his head and accepts the reigns of the horse Bobby hands him.

“Thank you, Bobby.”

“Safe journey, master,” he replies.

With a cloud of dust behind him, his father takes off on horseback, shoulders straight and head held high, and even just the sight of him riding away again so soon makes his heart heavy.

“Come along, boys. Back to your lessons,” Naomi urges them.

“Wait! He always waves at the gate,” Castiel tells her. She sighs impatiently and Castiel doesn’t understand her hurry. “It’s tradition,” he tries to explain. “Watch.”

They all stand and watch while his father rides down the lane way, but all of the sudden, he releases the reins to grip his arm. He hunches forwards, and before Castiel even sees him fall, he knows it’s going to happen, and he takes off as fast as his legs will carry him.

“Papa!”

He can barely hear the sounds of pain his father is making over the pounding of his heart in his head and his feet on the ground. Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong. His father is an excellent rider and he would never fall off his horse!

He falls to his knees as he approaches him, and though there’s pain etched into his father’s expression, still, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s face, brushing away the tears he didn’t even know were falling.

“Papa!” he chokes out, leaning into his touch.

“Charles!” Naomi sobs, suddenly right beside him. But his father only has eyes for him, and he never breaks eye contact.

“I - I - I love you,” his father chokes out.

“No!” Naomi sobs again.

His father’s hand goes slack on his face, falling onto the ground. “I love you,” he whispers again as his head hits the ground with a heavy thud, and then he goes still. Castiel can’t seem to make sense of what’s happening through the pain in his chest and the tears clouding his vision.

“Papa!” he shouts, shaking him, trying to get him to wake up.

“You cannot leave me here! You cannot leave me!” Naomi is shouting.

“Papa! Papa, please come back!”

* * *

 

**TEN YEARS LATER**

 

“I’ve arranged a shared marriage treaty with the Princess of Spain... and that boy will obey me or there will be hell to pay!” King John bellows.

“But he doesn’t love her, my lord,” Queen Mary tells him.

“It’s not about love!” John insists.

“Maybe it should be,” Mary says softly.

John shakes his head. “If he’s going to become King, he _must_ accept his responsibilities!”

Mary sighs heavily and threads her arms through her husband’s. “A sapling cannot grow in the shadow of a mighty oak, John. Our boy needs sunlight.”

John scoffs, storming towards Dean’s bedroom. “What he needs is a good whipping!”

“Really, John! Can’t this wait until morning?” Mary tries.

“Nonsense! If I can’t sleep, then neither should he!” John says. “Dean, wake up!” he bellows, throwing open the curtains to Dean’s bed and finding it empty.

Mary can barely hide her smile. “Oh no. Not again.”

John seethes. “Find him! Call out the guard and bring him back!” he barks as he storms away.

Mary sighs heavily as she approaches the window to look out into the night. She sees the unmistakable sight of Prince Dean’s form, lazy but comfortable on the back of his father’s favorite horse as he goes speeding through the gates, with half of the guards hot on his tail.

Why must her oldest son be so much trouble?

***

It’s early morning, and Castiel is out in the orchard on their property picking apples for his family. He’s already covered in dirt from mucking out stalls earlier this morning, and he’s glad he wore his rattiest clothing this morning. As he gently places the apples into the basket, he thinks idly that perhaps he’ll make a pie this afternoon. His thoughts scatter as several horses go speeding past him. The King’s horses, he notices. He wipes at his sweating face absentmindedly, realizing too late that he just spread dirt all over his forehead. The horses are just out of eyesight when a lone figure climbing over a fence and attempting to get onto one of his father’s horses draws his gaze.

His back goes up immediately. Nobody steals from his father!

“Come on, you stupid beast!” the man is saying, trying unsuccessfully to get it to do his bidding.

“Oh no you don’t,” Castiel says to himself. “Thief!” he calls out accusingly. “This will teach you to steal my father’s horse!”

Without any other thoughts apart from teaching this man a lesson, Castiel takes an apple in his hand and throws it at him, connecting perfectly and knocking him right off his horse. Pride blooms inside of him when the man struggles to right himself on his feet.

“Mine slipped his shoe! I had no other choice!” the man tries to explain indignantly, still mostly hidden behind the horse. Likely trying to protect himself from another apple, which he has to admit is a smart move on his part. He takes another apple in his hand nonetheless and awaits his next opportunity.

“And my choice is to what? Let you steal him?” Castiel asks, irritated with the assumption.

“I was only borrowing it!” the man says.

“Get out, now! Or I’ll wake the house!” Castiel threatens, nowhere close to backing down. When the man tries to come around the horse and towards him, he launches the apple in his hand and nails him in the side of the head.

“Son of a bitch!” the man gasps, rubbing his head with his hand. When his hand drops, his face is revealed enough so that Castiel can see him clearly for the first time.

Castiel’s eyes go comically wide as he drops to his knees. _The thief is the prince!_

He looks straight at the ground and begs, “Forgive me, Your Highness! I did not see you!”

He hears a snort from the prince before he responds, “Your aim would suggest otherwise.”

Castiel’s heart sinks. “And for that, I know I must die,” he says solemnly.

When the Prince doesn't say anything right away, he lifts his eyes enough to see Prince Dean frown as he hops onto the back of the horse again, sitting so sloppily it’s no wonder the horse doesn’t want him as a rider. “Then, uh, speak of this to no one. And, uh... I shall be lenient.”

Knowing his duty, Castiel offers, “We have other horses, Your Highness. Younger. Faster, if that is your wish.”

“I wish for nothing but freedom from my gilded cage,” he says, sounding despondent. Castiel tips his head up to read his expression and can’t help but notice how incredibly handsome he is, even if he is a spoiled, entitled brat. That’s when he sees him holding up a small sack in his hand.

Prince Dean empties gold coins onto the ground. “For your silence.”

He rides away without a glance back at him, and Castiel scrambles over to the coins on the ground. That’s more gold than he’s ever seen in his life, and he gathers it up quickly when he hears his name called from back at the house.

***

“I asked for four one-minute eggs, not one _four-minute_ egg,” Michael complains. “And where in God’s name is our bread?”

“It’s just coming out of the oven, sir,” Ellen answers him.

“Michael, darling, what have I told you about your tone?” Naomi reminds him.

“A man fit for a king must never raise his voice above the gentle hum of a whispering wind,” Gabriel says sarcastically, not bothering to lower his voice one bit. He has no illusions over being fit for a king. No sir, no thank you!

“Gabriel, dear. Do not speak unless you can improve upon the silence,” Naomi says dryly.

“I wasn’t _shrill,”_ Michael insists. “I was resonant. A king would know the difference.”

“I very much doubt your style of resonance would be permitted in the Royal Court.”

“Well I’m not going to the Royal Court, am I, mother?” Michael says snidely. “No, no one is, except some Spanish pig they have the nerve to call a Princess!”

“Darling, nothing is final until you’re dead. And even then, I’m sure God negotiates,” she quips. “Why is there no salt on the table? Castiel!”

***

“Coming!” Castiel calls from the kitchen.

“She’s in one of her moods,” Ellen warns him, walking into the room and taking in the way his blue eyes are shining with happiness. “Did the sun rise in the East?”

“Yes, Ellen, it did! And it’s going to be a glorious day!” he says, dumping a handful of gold onto the table.

“Child, where’d you get this?” Ellen gasps.

“From an angel of mercy,” Castiel chuckles happily. “And I know exactly what to do with them!”

Ellen’s hand comes up to cover her mouth. “Bobby?”

Castiel nods. “If the Baroness can sell your husband to pay for her taxes, surely this gold can buy him back. The Court will have to let him go.”

“But the king has sold him to Cartier! He’s bound for the Americas!’

Castiel sets his jaw. “Bobby has been part of this family for longer than the Baroness, and I will not let it fall apart!”

“We’re waiting!” he hears the Baroness call.

“Take heed, child,” Ellen tells him, putting the coins back into his apron. “Or these coins are as good as hers.”

Castiel takes them and hurries up the stairs with a tray of breakfast for his family. “Morning Madame. Michael, Gabriel,” he nods. “I trust you slept well.”

“What kept you?” Naomi snaps.

“I... fell off the ladder in the orchard, but I’m fine now,” he lies.

“It looks like you’ve been reading in the fireplace again,” Michael says with a look of disgust. Castiel glances down at his hands and clothes covered in dirt, and flushes when he thinks of the Prince seeing him in such a state. “Look at you. Ash and soot everywhere.”

“Some people read because they cannot think for themselves,” Naomi comments.

“Why don’t you just sleep with the pigs, Cinder-soot, especially if you insist on smelling like one?” Michael asks.

Castiel presses his lips into a tight line and tries to look like the insults don’t bother him. Really, after so many years of this he should be used to it.

“That was harsh, Michael,” Naomi scolds him. “Castiel, come here, child.”

Castiel steps towards her hesitantly, and puts his hands within her waiting grasp. She turns them over and frowns at the dirt under his nails and staining his skin. “Your appearance does reflect a certain crudeness, my dear. What must I do in order to inspire you to try?”

“I do try, stepmother,” Castiel says, his voice small. “I do wish to please you. Sometimes I sit on my own and I try to think... what else I might do, how to act...” he admits.

“Oh, calm down, child. Relax,” she says, waving him away.

“Perhaps if we brought back Bobby I would not offend you so?” he suggests.

“It is _your_ _manner_ that offends, Castiel. Throughout these hard times, I have sheltered you and I have cared for you. All I ask in return is that you help me here without complaint. Is that so much to ask?” Naomi demands.

“No, my lady,” Castiel says, biting his tongue.

“Very well. Now we will have no more talk of servents returning, understood?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Naomi huffs. “After all that I do! After all I have done! It’s never enough.”

Properly scolded, Castiel slinks out of the room.

***

Meanwhile, Prince Dean is still on the run from his father’s guards. He rides steadily on the old borrowed horse until he comes upon a young red headed woman whose belongings are being raided by gypsies.

“Stop! There’s nothing there! It’s but pots and pans! Leave me alone! I have nothing!” the redhead exclaims. The gypsies grab something in a tube and the redhead dives for it as she wails, _“No!_ Please! Anything but that!”

“Get out of the way, woman!” the gypsy insists, shoving her to the side and sending her toppling onto the ground before he and his friends scatter.

“I don’t believe this,” Dean gripes as he reaches her side. “Are you alright?”

“The painting!” she gasps, getting to her feet. “Please, sir, for the love of God! The painting!”

The sound of hooves fast approaching behind him warns him the guards are closing in again. “I’m sorry, I cannot assist you. But the King’s guard will,” he tells her, beginning to steer his horse away.

 _“Please sir!_ It is _my life,”_ she says, big green eyes shining up at him brimming with tears.

Dean rolls his eyes, but finds he can’t say no to her. Against his better judgement he begins chasing after the gypsy. Damn woman, looking at him with those big sad eyes of hers. He doesn’t have time for this! Nonetheless, as he reaches a steep incline not fit for the horse, he hops off and quickly catches up to the gypsy on foot.

The gypsy looks over his shoulder and throws his head back with laughter as he increases his pace. Dean feels his temper flare as he, too, speeds up.

“You ugly peasant bastard! Give me the damn painting!” he calls out as he gets closer. He reaches out and clasps his fingers around it. “There! Got it!” he says triumphantly.

Unfortunately, that’s the moment he looks ahead, and without sufficient time to stop the forwards motion of his body, he propels off of a cliff and directly into the lake. He sputters as he resurfaces and spits the dirty water out. The painting still encased in the container bobs up to the surface beside him and he sighs heavily as he grabs it and begins his swim back to the bank. This is the thanks he gets for trying to do a good deed. Just perfect. After climbing out, he jogs towards where he left the redhead to return the painting... where he also sees his father’s guards waiting.

Ah well, it was nice while it lasted, he supposes. He’ll likely think back fondly on the handful of time he had on the open road with a horse beneath him and nobody to answer to but himself. It's almost guaranteed to never happen again, he thinks bitterly.

The redhead’s eyes fall on him and there’s amusement written all over her face before she sobers quickly and says, “You actually got it! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The head guard glares at him. “Your Highness, you promised you were done with this reckless behavior!”

He shrugs, completely unashamed. “I know, but I lied. I thought I’d see the world one last time before I gave up my life, such as it is, to God and country.”

The redhead goggles at him. “Why on earth did you stop for me?”

“I suppose a lack of conviction, though you seem to have enough for both of us,” he answers. “Besides, you said it was a matter of life and death, remember?”

She grins as she unrolls the painting to reveal a plain but still beautiful looking woman with a secretive smile on her face. “Yes, well, a woman always is, Sire.”

He’s caught off guard, first of all by her obvious and shameless attraction to whoever this woman is, and secondly by the talent she possesses. He eyes the painting closer and determines, “She laughs at me, as if she knows something I do not.”

The redhead nods eagerly. “The lady had many secrets. I only painted one of them.” The smile she aims at Dean now is a knowing one, and he can’t hide his answering smile. He likes her.

“Madame Bradbury has been invited to the palace as the artist in residence,” the Captain tells him.

“Charlie Bradbury?” he asks her, familiar with the name if not the face.

Charlie brushes off his shocked tone of voice with a wave of her hand. “Michelangelo was trapped under a ceiling in Rome. I was merely second choice.”

Dean laughs at her joke. “I’m on my way to Genoa, and I find my salvation on the highway,” he confesses, thinking of how much he enjoyed himself on the open road, such as it was. “Madam, as you are the founder of forward thinking and my father is the king of backward, do you think you could talk him into the 17th century?”

Charlie looks at him questioningly. “Captain, do translate?”

The guard replies, “Price Dean suffers from an arranged marriage, madam... among other things.”

“I’ll tell you all about it while we return this horse to where it belongs,” Dean offers, leading the way.

When he approaches the old farm home some time later, he knocks on the door and is greeted by the Baroness herself.

“Oh! Your Highness! What a lovely surprise. To what do we owe this great honor?” she asks, and yes, Dean can see the surprise all over her face plainly enough. Interesting that the servant never mentioned throwing apples at the Prince. You’d think something like that would be the highlight of a servant’s day.

“I’m returning your horse, Baroness,” he explains.

She has a vapid expression on her face when she responds, “Oh. Was it missing?”

The years he’s spent having his manners groomed meticulously by his parents is the only thing that keeps him from rolling his eyes at this woman. “Yes. I took the liberty of borrowing it earlier. I’m afraid I gave your servant quite a scare,” he says, trying to hide his amusement at the predicament the young servant found himself in. “A young man with quite a good arm, actually,” he admits fondly.

Her eyes go wide. “He’s mute, my lord.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at the blatant lie. “Really? He spoke quite forcefully.”

A blush comes to her cheeks as she flounders for a response. “Well, it comes and goes.” Man, he hates people like this who fawn all over him just because he was born into _the right_ family at the right time. She probably wouldn’t even recognize his younger brother because _he’s_ not meant to be king. “But as always, Your Highness is welcome to anything he wishes. Anything at all,” she says, lowering her voice in clear invitation, and frankly, giving him the creeps.

He doesn’t have to try to come up with an appropriate response, because just then the door opens wider behind the Baroness and two young men stand behind her. One is quite striking, and the other is short but friendly looking.

“Oh, gentlemen! Here you are,” the Baroness says happily.

Both men bow and say, “Your Highness,” in unison.

“May I present Michael David Francois of the House of Ghent... and Gabriel,” she finishes lamely.

“You may indeed,” he responds politely. He turns his eyes back to the tallest of the two boys and takes in the breadth of his shoulders. “Gentlemen, forgive me, but you certainly seem to have matured overnight.”

“We are so looking forward to celebrating the engagement to your own Spanish rose,” the Baroness says.

He tries to keep his expression blank when he replies, “Yes, well there have been several new developments when it comes to Spain.” He looks back at the tall one - Michael, he remembers - and his eyes are pulled to an ornate belt buckle that draws his gaze to a sizable bulge nestled beneath it. Without thinking, he says, “I must say, Michael, that belt buckle is an eyeful.”

Michael runs his hands along the belt slowly, showcasing thick, but somehow dainty fingers, and responds, “Oh, this old thing? You’re too kind.”

He reeks of insincerity, but he doesn’t sound like he’s trying to hide it, and Dean kind of likes that about him.

“I trust these new developments are... for the best?” the Baroness questions, stealing his attention.

Dean nods. “Let us hope so. Good day, my lady. Gentlemen.”

***

  
“Have you completely lost your marbles?” Balthazar asks incredulously. “Do you know what the punishment is for servants who dress above their stations? Five days in the stocks!”

“You’d do the same for me, admit it,” Castiel laughs from behind a privacy screen as he changes out of his dirty clothes.

“Me? Pretend to be a courtier?” he sputters. “Prancing around like some nobleman when I’ve never even been to court! And neither have you, by the way!”

“Then I won’t be recognized, now will I?” Castiel responds. “Hand me those clothes so I can be on my way.”

Balthazar shakes his head but passes them behind the screen anyway. “They’ll never buy it, Cassie. You’re too sweet.”

Castiel snorts at the untrue compliment. He’s nowhere close to sweet. “Luckily for me, they’ll never buy a servant with gold francs either.” Then, more seriously, “I have no other choice, Balthy. I’m Bobby’s only hope.”

There’s a moment of silence before Balthazar asks, “And the Baroness, what did you tell her?”

“Picking wildflowers. Did you see her in town earlier?”

“Yes. They purchased a disgustingly large belt buckle.”

“Unbelievable,” Castiel fumes. “She ignores the manor, blames us for her debt, and yet still pretends to have money to burn on such frivolousness?” Having fastened his sash around his waist as the finishing touch to his borrowed wardrobe, he says, “Don’t you dare laugh. I’m coming out.” His shoes clunk awkwardly as he walks. “The shoes are much too large," he admits, looking up to see a look of awe on his closest friend’s face.

“Believe me, Cas, nobody’s going to be looking at your feet.”

Castiel feels a blush come to his face. “Yards of fabric, and yet with how fitted everything is I still feel oddly naked,” he admits.

Balthazar smiles. “If you’re going to be a nobleman, you must play the part.” He reaches over to tip his chin up. “You look down to no-one.”

Castiel shakes his head at the thought. “I’m just a servant in proper clothing.”

Balthazar snorts, knowing his friend has no idea just how handsome he looks. “Come. We must do something with that hair of yours.”

Walking into the town square some time later, Castiel raises his head, squares his shoulders and takes in the sight before him. _Lord, give me strength,_ he prays. A cart pulling slaves is before him, and when he sees Bobby’s familiar but much too thin frame, he steps forwards hurriedly and raises his voice.

“I wish to address the issue of this servant,” Castiel says. “He is my servant and I am here to pay the debt against him.”

The trader looks at him with disdain. “You’re too late, he’s already paid for.”

“I can pay you gold francs,” he tells him.

The trader huffs. “You can have _me_ for gold francs. Drive on!”

Feeling a mix of rage and panic swirling within him, he tries again, forcing himself to sound more confident. “I demand you release him at once, or I shall take this matter to the King himself.”

“The King is the one who sold him!” the trader shouts in response. “He is now property of Cartier.”

“He is not property at all, you ill-mannered tub of guts!” Castiel argues, stepping in front of the cart to ensure they don't drive away. “Do you think it right to chain people like chattel? I demand you release him at once!”

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!” the man shouts.

“You dare raise your voice to a nobleman, sir?” Castiel hears. He turns to see Prince Dean standing there, looking irate as he’s ever seen him... including when he knocked him off of his horse earlier. Panic suddenly races through him as he worries that the Prince might recognize him from this morning. He tries to keep his head turned away while the trader replies.

“Your Highness, f-forgive me, Sire. I meant no disrespect. It’s just, er, I’m following orders. It’s my job to take these thieves to the coast.”

“A servant is not a thief, Your Highness!” Castiel hears the words spill from his mouth before he’s completely decided to even say them. But it's too late to back down now. “And those _who are_ cannot help themselves,” he adds once he’s pinned by the Prince’s bright green eyes.

“Really?” the Prince asks, seemingly surprised by the statement. “By all means, enlighten us then.”

Castiel breathes deeply to ensure his voice comes out steady and strong. “If you suffer your people to be ill-educated and their manners corrupted from infancy, then punish them for those very crimes to which their first education disposed them, what else is to be concluded, Sire, but that first you make thieves and then punish them?”

Prince Dean looks at him with a stunned expression on his face. It’s nothing compared to the way Castiel’s jaw drops when the next words out of Prince Dean’s mouth are, “Well, there you have it. Release him.”

The servant sputters. “But, Sire -”

 _“I said_ release him,” Prince Dean repeats, his voice harder this time and carrying so much authority in the tone of his voice that it causes a pleasant shiver to move down Castiel’s spine.

“Yes, Sire,” the trader responds.

Castiel watches with barely veiled eagerness as Bobby is released and stumbles his way forwards before he collapses into his arms.

“I thought I was lookin’ at your Papa,” Bobby whispers, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Meet me at the bridge,” he whispers in response, struggling to keep his composure. Then he raises his voice to no one and calls out, “Prepare the horses! We will leave at once!” Though he’s reluctant to do so, he then turns to face the Prince again. “I thank you, Your Highness,” he says before he turns to walk away.

Much to his dismay, he hears the Prince match his pace and fall into stride beside him. “Have we met?” Prince Dean asks.

“I do not believe so, Your Highness,” he lies as sweat begins to bead on his skin for the first time.

“I could have sworn I knew every courtier in the province,” Prince Dean remarks.

“Well... I’m visiting a cousin,” Castiel lies again.

“Who?” Prince Dean asks curiously.

“My... cousin,” he stammers.

“Yes, you said that,” Prince Dean responds, sounding somewhat amused. “Which one?”

Feeling backed into a corner, he answers the only way he can. Vaguely. “The only one I have, Sire.”

Prince Dean actually laughs, and places his hand gently on Castiel’s shoulder to stop him. “Are you coy on purpose, or do you honestly refuse to tell me your name?” he asks.

“No!” Castiel says quickly, thrown by the very thought of attempting to be coy with the Prince. “And yes,” he adds, answering his second question and beginning to walk again.

“Then tell me your cousin’s name so I might call upon _him_ to learn who you are. Anyone who can quote Thomas Moore is well worth any effort it might cause me,” Prince Dean says honestly.

And _that_ stops him in his tracks. “The Prince has read _Utopia?”_

Prince Dean shrugs a shoulder in an endearingly un-royal way. “I confess I found it sentimental and dull. The plight of the everyday rustic bores me.”

Swiftly reminded of just who he’s speaking with and how very little they must have in common, he resumes walking. “I gather you do not converse with many peasants,” Castiel says dryly.

Prince Dean chuckles. “Certainly not, no! Naturally!”

Mad all over again by the tone the Prince used to answer his question - as though it's ridiculous and insulting to even suggest such a thing - Castiel’s mouth runs away with him once more. “Excuse me, Sire, but there is nothing _natural_ about it. A country’s character is defined by its everyday rustics, as you call them. They are the legs you stand on. That position demands respect, not -”

“Am I to understand... you find me _arrogant?”_ Prince Dean asks, cutting him off and proving his supposition accurate.

Castiel pins him with a look. “Well, you gave one man back his life, but did you even glance at the others?”

Prince Dean looks ashamed and then immediately intrigued. “Please, I beg of you. A name. Any name.”

He doesn’t know if other men and women would be able to look at those bright green eyes and pouty pink lips and deny the Prince anything, but Castiel finds he cannot. “I fear the only name to leave you with is... Count Charles Shurley.”

Prince Dean’s smile, when it comes, reveals perfectly straight white teeth and a warmth in his eyes that makes butterflies flutter wildly in Castiel’s stomach.

“There now. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Prince Dean asks with his voice soft.

Castiel smiles back shyly before he ducks his head and scurries away as quickly as he can, feeling breathless in a way he’s never felt before, but is still somehow certain is uniquely and singularly in relation to Prince Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

Queen Mary watches the exchange between her eldest son and the young man who she doesn’t recognize with rapt interest. She can’t recall ever seeing Dean so involved in a conversation that didn’t take place with Sam. She doesn’t have to wonder if she’s ever seen him back down as quickly as he did once that young man had said his piece, because she’s absolutely certain it’s never happened before.

Just as she’s absolutely certain she just saw her first born light up like the sunrise when that young man smiled at him before he hurried away.

Interesting, indeed.

After watching her son stalk over to the slave trader and demand all of them to be released at once, she calls him over.

“Oh, Dean! You’re back!” she exclaims as if she wasn’t just watching for the last several minutes.

Dean grins as he approaches her, adorable as ever without even a hint of apology for taking off late into the night and dodging his father’s guards for the better part of the day.

“Hello, mother.”

“The King would like a word with you,” she tells him. “Several, in fact.”

“He usually does,” Dean says cheekily, falling into step beside her. He cranes his neck once more for a glimpse of Charles, but he’s nowhere to be seen. How did he disappear so quickly?

Once he joins his father in the grand sitting room, he sits, disinterested, while he gets the lecture of all lectures.

“You, young man, are restricted to the castle grounds,” King John finally ends with.

Dean recoils. “Are you _grounding_ me?”

“Do not mock me, boy, for I am in a foul disposition. And _I will_ have my way!"

“Or what?” Dean asks, not heeding his warning whatsoever. “You’ll send me to the Americas like some criminal? All for the sake of your stupid contract?”

“You are the Crown Prince of France!” his father exclaims.

“And it’s _my_ life!” he retorts angrily.

His mother moves between them. “John, sit down before you have a stroke,” she says tiredly. She shakes her head in exasperation. “Really, the two of you!” Then she turns to Dean with a softer expression on her face. “Sweetheart, you were born to privilege, and with that comes specific obligations.”

Dean looks between his parents and decides to stand his ground. “Forgive me for saying so mother, but marriage to a complete stranger never made anyone in this room very happy." He gestures between her and his father. "Is this what you want for me? Truly?” he asks, desperate to hear somebody - anybody - say his happiness is more important than the crown.

“You will marry Bela by the next full moon or I will strike at you in every way I can,” his father answers in his stead.

Dean feels anger boiling within him and uses it to taunt the King. “What’s it going to be then, father? Hot oil or the rack for whipping?”

His father’s face turns a truly spectacular shade of red as he gets to his feet. “I will simply deny you the crown... and... live forever!”

Dean snorts and settles back into the couch. “Good! I don’t want it anyway!”

His father whirls on his mother and spits, “He’s _your_ son, you know!” before he stalks out of the room.

 ***

Back at the manor, Castiel walks into the sitting room and is met with a mocking sing-song from Michael. “Somebody’s in trouble.”

Castiel stops in his tracks. _Does his stepmother know?_

“What do you mean?” he asks.

The Baroness flies into the room, her face angry and her tone shrill. “You stupid, stupid boy! How dare you do this to me? To Michael? Why, the whole thing makes me sick! It’s deceitfulness, Castiel, and I will not have it in my house!”

Castiel cowers back into the first available chair he sees. “What did I do?” he asks weakly as his stepmother towers over him.

“Think, Castiel,” Michael taunts him. “Think, really, really hard.”

He sees Gabriel behind him motioning in a silent trot and it strikes him suddenly. “Prince Dean stole our horse this morning?” he asks quietly.

“Yes!” the Baroness squeaks. “And that would explain why he returned it this afternoon. How dare you allow him to surprise us like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, knowing that can be the only acceptable answer here.

“Well, luckily for you, Michael turned in a beautiful performance. He and the Prince had quite an interlude, and all but confirmed my suspicions that the Prince does indeed feel an attraction to males as well as females.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he stops by again,” Michael says proudly.

Castiel’s head is spinning. He knew Naomi had her theory, of course, but he never truly believed that Prince Dean would be attracted to both sexes the way he himself is. Is that why he wanted to know his name so badly earlier? Is Prince Dean attracted to him the same way he was attracted to the Prince? Surely not.

“Come, come!” the Baroness says suddenly. “I must know exactly what was said. The simplest phrase can have a thousand meanings. He said you were forceful. What did you say?”

Castiel winces before he answers quietly. “I called him a thief, madam. I did not recognize him!”

The Baroness actually laughs, startling him with the unfamiliar sound. “Oh, Castiel, you poor, little country boy.” Michael is laughing at him, too, and he just sits and waits it out until he’s dismissed. “Well, we must work extra hard to make sure the manor is spotless. We cannot have a royal bottom sitting on a dirty chaise, can we?”

She says it such a patronizing tone of voice that Castiel has to clench his jaw. “No.”

Just then, Bobby and Ellen appear in the doorway.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Michael asks, looking at Bobby.

“I have worked off your... _my_ debts, monsieur. They told me I could go home,” Bobby responds.

“Fine,” the Baroness says unhappily. “Now, go. Catch a chicken,” she tells him as she waves him away.

 ***

The next day, Prince Dean and his mother are walking through the courtyard.

“Who, dear?” Queen Mary asks, feigning ignorance.

“Count Charles Shurley,” he repeats. “He’s a cousin of... actually, I don’t know who his cousin is. But surely you’ve heard of him?”

“Oh darling,” Mary says sadly, “There are simply too many courtiers to remember them all by name. Why do you ask?”

“Mm?” Dean asks, clearly dodging the question, and quite poorly at that. “Oh, never mind.”

Suddenly, King John approaches from behind them. “In honor of the artist Charlie Bradbury, I have decided to throw a ball. A masked ball. At which point, you and I will strike a compromise,” John says to Dean.

Dean lifts his brows in surprise. “You? A compromise?”

He feels his mother’s hand tighten on his arm in warning and shoots her a smile.

“If love is what you seek, then I suggest you find it before then.” Dean looks at him questioningly. “For five days from today, at the stroke of midnight, you will announce your engagement to the woman of your choice _or_ I will announce it for you."  
  
"What about Sam? Will he be back by then? I won't do it without him," Dean insists.

"We will arrange for him to be back, as long as we are in agreement?”

His brother back, five days of freedom, and a chance to attempt to find someone he’s interested in is worlds better than being forced into a choice that’s not his own.

“What of your treaty?” he wonders aloud.

The King scoffs. “Let me worry about Spain. You’ve got bigger problems.”

Irritated with her husband’s tone, Mary sends him a significant look. “And choose wisely, Dean. Divorce is only something they do in England.”

Dean huffs with laughter as his father stalks off angrily.

 ***

Meanwhile, Castiel is outside retrieving the honey from their hives. This is, by far, the chore he enjoys most. Bees are absolutely fascinating. He’s often thought if he ever had the time, he would quite happily follow one around for an entire day just to see where the journey brings him. He knows if his father were still here he would allow him the time and indulgence. 

“I’d have given anything to see you all dressed up like a courtier,” Ellen says with laughter in her voice. “Speaking to the Prince like a nobleman.”

“Scolding him, more like it,” Castiel corrects with a smile. “I still can’t believe I gave him my father’s name! The man is insufferable!”

Ellen laughs at the boy. “Yes, you’ve been saying that... all day.”

“Well, it’s as true now as it was this morning,” Castiel insists, even as he flushes at the reminder of just how frequently he's repeated their encounter today.

“Oh darling,” Ellen laughs again. “They’re just born like that.”

“Then I suppose the penalty for being wealthy is having to live with the rich,” Castiel quips.

“I’ll bet he’s quite charming once you get to know him,” Ellen says kindly.

“Honestly, I think he and Michael deserve each other,” he says, not entirely sure if he believes it.

“Oh, bite your tongue!” Ellen scolds him. “The only throne I want him sitting on is the one I have to clean every day.”

 ***

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” the Baroness asks Michael. They’ve been rifling through clothing for what seems like an eternity.

“It’s blue,” Michael answers.

“Dean loves blue!” she reminds him.

“Yes, and fifty other girls will be wearing the same color for the same reason,” he says dryly.

The Baroness inclines her head in approval. “That's smart. Very good, Michael.”

Gabriel walks into the room also wearing a new shirt, frowning. “This one’s way too small.”

She takes in the sight of him and must agree, though they don’t have anything much bigger. “You’ll just have to suck it in.”

Gabriel’s jaw drops. “I can barely breathe as it is!”

“If one cannot breathe, one cannot eat sweets!”

Gabriel flinches, but before he can say anything, Michael demands, “Mother, focus please!”

“Perhaps if I knew what you were looking for!” she replies irritably.

“Something fit for a king!” Michael spits.

A thought occurs to her. An questionable thought, yes, but is there anything she wouldn’t do for her children? “Come, boys. I have just the thing - but we must speak of this to no one," she warns them.

“Oh, I do love a good intrigue!” Michael laughs, following behind her.

The Baroness walks quickly into the storage room and opens a dusty treasure chest. She unties the fabric protecting what’s inside from the elements (and more dust), and slowly lifts out the bright white suit jacket her late husband wore to their wedding. Not that she’d ever admit to it aloud, but Charles's servants had outdone themselves creating this for him. It's absolutely breathtaking, with sky blue accents on the chest and shoulders, and each seam is decorated with glittering stones. Charles had looked like an angel in all white on their wedding day, and now, it’s time for Michael to do the same.

Of course, it had been saved with the intention for Castiel to wear it when he gets married, but the chances of anybody ever marrying that half-wit are slim to none, and besides, it will look better on Michael anyway.

“Waste not, want not,” she says, looking at Michael with a small smile on her face.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Michael exclaims.

“Oh, look at the pants, too!” Gabriel says, pulling the matching white pants with glittering stones down each side. “Where did you get these?”

“It was supposed to be Castiel’s, for his wedding.”

Michael laughs derisively. “Cassie? Married? To whom - the chimney sweep?”

Gabriel furrows his brow. “Mother, if that suit is his, there’s a good chance he’ll want to wear it to the ball, don’t you think?”

Michael huffs. “Since when does a royal function include commoners?”

“Well, never,” Gabriel answers truthfully. “But technically he is our stepbrother, and the invitation did say, ‘To the DeGhent household.’”

“He is not of noble blood!” Michael points out.

“Besides, who would notice that he’s missing? No one,” the Baroness says, effectively ending the argument.

“Honestly, Gabriel, whose side are you on?” Michael taunts him.

Castiel follows the voices of his family and walks in to see Michael holding his father’s jacket - the jacket he got married in that was supposed to be saved _for him_ \- up to his chest. Castiel’s blood runs cold.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

He doesn’t miss the looks the three of them exchange, or the look of shame all over Gabriel’s face. “Airing out your suit, for the masque,” the Baroness answers.

Castiel can’t even hide his look of shock, and he sees Gabriel recoil as well. “You wish _me_ to go to a masque?”

Michael makes an insincere sound of agreement, and the Baroness responds, “Of course.”

Rocked to his core, he finds himself speechless for what might be the first time in his entire life. “I don’t know what to say,” he says honestly.

“Honestly, Castiel, it hurts me you don’t feel like you’re one of my sons,” the Baroness replies.

“I only meant -”

“I thought we could all go as one, big happy family,” she continues. “That is, if you complete your chores in time and mind your manners until then.”

Castiel nods eagerly, but pauses when Gabriel tosses the pants he had been holding into the chest and storms out of the room. He takes a step closer to the Baroness and lowers his voice to ask, “What’s the matter with him?”

Michael answers with a sideways smile. “Oh, he didn’t want you to go.”

 ***

Prince Dean and Charlie are at the lake, and Dean is skipping rocks on the water’s surface while Charlie is doing something with two large wooden shoes he can’t even begin to guess the point behind.

“Do you really think there is only one perfect match for each person?” Dean asks her.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Charlie answers. “But I don’t believe it has to be a member of the opposite sex.”

Dean decides not to comment on that for the time being. “How can you be certain to find them, though?” he asks. “And if you find them, are they really the one for you, or do you only think they are?” Charlie makes a humming sound behind him, and his thoughts just keep pouring out of him. “What happens if the person you’re meant to be with never appears? Or they do, but you’re too distracted to notice?”

“You learn to pay attention,” Charlie answers. “And don’t think I didn’t notice how you said _they_ and not _she.”_

“Then let’s say God puts two people on earth, and they’re lucky enough to find each other - which I’m sorry to say sounds unlikely enough as it is. But what if one of them gets hit by lightning? Then what?” Charlie giggles, but he’s not joking. “Is that it? Or what if, perchance, you meet someone new and marry again. Is _that_ the person you were always meant to be with, or was it the first? And if so, if the two of them were walking side by side, were they both the one for you and you just met the first one first? Or was the second one supposed to be first?” He whirls to face her now, having worked himself into somewhat of a frenzy. “Is everything just chance, Charlie, or are some things meant to be?”

“You cannot leave everything to fate, Dean,” she says kindly, soothingly, and Dean wonders how a handful of words from this young woman can put him at ease so quickly. “She’s got a lot to do, you know. Sometimes you have to give her a hand.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead, he looks back at the wooden shoes. “What’s this project then, hm?”

She grins at him impishly, reminding him of the first time they met. “Let’s see if they work.”

Charlie steps into the shoes she’s spent months creating, and Dean helps her to the water’s edge. She takes a tentative step and stays upright, then grins over her shoulder at Dean and continues walking along water. She doesn’t get far at all before her attention is drawn to somebody floating along the river. She approaches whoever it is carefully, not knowing how safe they may be, and looks down to see a handsome young man with a small smile on his face, looking as peaceful as anyone could hope to be.

“Looks like rain,” she comments. She gets a brief glimpse of eyes as blue as the water before he makes a startled sound and goes under water, scaring the wits out of her and toppling her over as well. She and the young stranger make their way to shore, sputtering and choking on the water they inhaled by mistake, where they meet Prince Dean waiting anxiously for them at the shore.

“Charlie! Are you alright?” he calls.

“It seems I should leave walking on water to the Son of God after all,” she laughs. “Fortunately, I seemed to trip over an angel.”

Dean looks absolutely shocked to see Castiel standing there. “Count!”

Castiel stumbles on his own feet when he sees he’s managed to run into Prince Dean on his own _again_. “Your Highness!” Without thinking, he drops back to his knees to bow - and goes right back under water - before he stands back up blushing furiously. “Oh, um, careful. It’s very slippery right there.”

The two of them only have eyes for each other, and neither notice the way Charlie’s eyebrows shoot up when Prince Dean removes his overcoat and throws it over Castiel’s shoulders. Since when does the Prince have such good manners?

“Here, allow me,” Prince Dean tells him.

“Oh, thank you,” Castiel responds, blushing all over again.

“Where are your attendants?” Prince Dean asks, leading him to take a seat on the river bank.

“I decided to give them the day off,” Castiel answers.

Prince Dean sits beside him and laughs at what he must assume is a joke. “A day off? From what - life?”

Castiel bristles. “Don’t you tire of people waiting on you hand and foot?” he asks.

“Well sure, but... they’re servants. It’s what they do.”

Castiel barely suppresses an eyeroll. “I wish I could dismiss mine as easily as you do yours. I must be going,” he says, getting to his feet and taking the Prince’s overcoat off to hand it back to him.

Prince Dean gets to his feet next to him. “You’re angry with me!” he says, sounding amused.

“No,” Castiel lies.

“You are! Admit it!” Prince Dean presses.

“Well, yes, if you must know.”

“But why?” Dean asks, sounding genuinely stumped.

“Because you’re trying to bait me with your snobbery,” Castiel retorts.

Prince Dean looks at him with his green eyes lit up with interest. “I’m afraid you are a walking contradiction, and I admit I find that rather fascinating.”

Prince Dean finds him fascinating? “Me?”

“Yes, you,” Prince Dean replies, smiling. “You spout the ideals of a Utopian society, yet you live the life of a courtier.”

“And yet you own all the land there is and still take no pride in working it! Is that not also a contradiction?” Castiel counters.

“Wait - first I’m arrogant and now I have no pride?” Prince Dean asks, a teasing tone to his voice that makes a blush creep up his cheeks. “However do I manage that?”

Castiel looks into those green eyes he’s become endeared by and speaks honestly. “You have everything, and still the world holds no joy for you,” he says softly. “Yet you make fun of those who would see it for its possibilities.”

Prince Dean blinks at him, softness overcoming his features as he moves closer to Castiel. “How do you do it?” he asks.

“Do what?” Castiel echoes, more than a little flustered by his unwavering gaze.

“Live each day with this kind of passion! Don’t you find it exhausting?” Prince Dean wonders.

“Only when I’m around you,” Castiel answers truthfully, getting a laugh from Prince Dean that warms something deep in his core. “Why do you like to irritate me so?” he asks, dropping his gaze shyly, hoping he isn’t overstepping his bounds with the question.

“Why do you rise to the occasion?” Prince Dean teases, causing those butterflies to take flight again within Castiel when Dean’s pouty lips quirk into a smile as he chuckles at their banter.

“Castiel!” he hears Gabriel shout somewhere in the distance, and he flinches as reality settles back down upon him.

He turns back to Prince Dean and the breath is stolen right from his lungs when he sees the way he's still smiling at him. “Um, forgive me, Your Highness, I’ve lost track of the hour,” he lies, beginning to hurry away.

He passes by Charlie, who is holding up an odd square of fabric in her hand. “But the wind!” she says quizzically.

“I am sorry,” Castiel tells them, though he has no idea what the wind and fabric has to do with anything.

“I’m playing tennis tomorrow,” Prince Dean calls out desperately. “Will you come?”

Castiel’s heart stutters in his chest at the invitation but he runs back into the forest anyway. “I must go!”

Charlie tries to stifle her laughter at the crestfallen look upon the Prince’s face and the way his shoulders slump when the young man disappears.

“Why does he keep doing that?” he says to Charlie.

“Perhaps he’s not used to being flirted with by a prince,” Charlie offers.

Dean can feel his face flush as he looks away. “I wasn’t flirting with him.”

“You most certainly were!” she argues, laughing. “And he was undeniably flirting back.”

Dean looks back and smiles softly. “He was, wasn’t he?”

“I like him,” she tells him. “Now let’s try my kite.”

 ***

Back at home, Castiel is waiting silently while the Baroness, Michael, and Gabriel eat their meals.

“Ellen, where are the candlesticks? We can hardly see our plates,” the Baroness complains.

“They’re missing, my lady. I’ve searched high and low,” Ellen answers.

“The painting in the hall is gone, too,” Michael says. “It seems we have a thief in our midst.” Castiel doesn’t miss the way his eyes fall upon Ellen accusingly, and he has to fight the urge to come to her defense. 

“So this is how I’m treated after all our years together?” the Baroness complains. “My husband’s prized possessions! Well, I shall just garnish your wages until the pilfered items are returned. Is that quite understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ellen replies.

“Perhaps I shall ship you to the Americas with all the rest of the thieves,” the Baroness threatens.

“Didn’t you hear?” Gabriel asks. “The Prince asked the King to release all those men.”

Castiel can almost feel his knees go weak. “He didn’t!” he exclaims, forgetting himself for just a moment.

“Mmm,” Gabriel answers as he swallows his mouthful. “Now, by royal decree, any man who sails must be compensated.”

“Compensated! Honestly, what _is_ the world coming to?” the Baroness laments.

 _“I_ want to know who this nobleman is everyone keeps talking about,” Michael says bitterly. Once again, Castiel feels his breath catch. “There must have been a dozen women speaking of whoever he is this morning, and how the Prince fell all over himself to please him! There are already rumors circulating that the Prince was smitten with another man!”

The Baroness’s voice is cold as ice when she says, “We should find out who he is and bury him.”

Castiel is shocked beyond measure by all of the new information and quietly slips out of the room with his head spinning.

 ***

The next day, Castiel is in the field flying the kite Charlie left behind for him.

“Look, Balthy, it’s floating!” he calls, absolutely thrilled by the discovery.

Balthazar huffs. “I don’t know what you’re so happy about after yesterday. You know you’re going to be positively swimming in manure if Michael and Prince Dean get married.”

Castiel tries not to think about how Michael somehow managed to make a good impression on the King at the tennis match he had invited Castiel to, and how the two of them spent the afternoon walking around the town for everyone to see. He thought he might actually vomit at the sight of the Prince feeding a bite of something to Michael, and could barely stomach listening to the Baroness speaking about the potential engagement as if it might actually happen.

“I don’t know why it bothers you so,” Castiel lies. “I couldn’t care less!”

“You’re lying!” Balthazar says. “The Prince would be your brother-in-law and you would be bringing he and Michael breakfast in bed!”

The thought causes him to shiver violently. “But they would move into the palace, and I could stay with the Manor and turn things around! That’s all that matters,” he insists.

“You like him. Admit it!” Balthazar presses.

“Nope,” Castiel lies again.

“So I suppose if you saw him again, you’d simply...?”

“I’d simply walk right up to him and say, ‘My family is your family, Your Highness. By all means, take them away!’”

Castiel hears the thundering of hooves approaching, and that’s when Balthazar says, “Good. Because here’s your chance, mate. He’s coming our way.”

Castiel’s heart thuds almost painfully as he hurries to hide behind a bale of hay. Oh, he’s going to _kill_ Balthy for this.

Prince Dean comes to a stop beside Balthazar. “I’m looking for Charlie Bradbury. We’re to go to the monastery. Have you seen her?”

Castiel barely has a moment to think how authoritative Prince Dean’s voice is when he speaks to Balthazar, and how he doesn’t speak like that to him at all before Balthazar responds.

“Bradbury? No, Your Highness.”

“Well, is that not her flying contraption?” Prince Dean asks, and Castiel’s eyes go wide before he lets go and sends the kite flying off into the sky. “Where did you get it?”

“From, er, the Count Charles Shurley,” Balthazar answers, causing Castiel to groan silently. “He is a friend of hers.”

“You know him?” Prince Dean asks eagerly. “Please, I must find him. Where is he staying?”

 _The Prince wants to find him!_ Castiel thinks, bewildered.

“I, er, believe, Your Highness, that he is staying with a cousin. The, erm, Baroness Naomi DeGhent.”

“Hmm,” Prince Dean comments. “That does present a problem.”

“But I do know that he is there, by himself, at this very moment,” Balthazar says, and Castiel can feel his stomach turn itself into knots.

“Excellent,” Prince Dean says happily. “And uh, nice painting by the way.”

Castiel hears him gallop off and hurries over to Balthazar’s side, smacking him upside the head. “Balthy! You horrible little snipe!”

“Did you hear, Cassie? The Prince likes my painting!”

“And he’s headed towards _my house!”_ he reminds him.

Balthy grins before he responds, “Then I suggest you run.”

Castiel feels a smile come to his own face as he takes off as fast as his legs will carry him. “Bobby! Ellen! Come quick!” he shouts as he draws nearer. He needs to get cleaned up and out of these clothes before the Prince arrives.

He has never seen three people move so quickly or so efficiently in his life. He is dressed in a rather smart set of clothes and as clean as he can possibly be by the time there’s a knock on the door.

He opens the door to see the Prince standing there. “Your Highness, what an unexpected surprise,” he lies.

“Why, Count, do you not attend church?” Prince Dean asks.

“My faith is better served away from the rabid crowd,” Castiel answers.

Dean laughs. “Yes, I’m afraid my father’s edict has caused quite a, um, phenomenon. Which is why I am bound for the monastery." Castiel tilts his head in confusion, wondering what any of his has to do with him. The Prince rubs a hand at the back of his neck, coming across as adorably nervous before he continues speaking. "The Franciscans have an astonishing library I thought you might be interested in since you are so fond of reading. I hoped you might join me?”

Castiel’s sure his heart is shining in his eyes. It's such a thoughtful gesture for the Prince to plan something around their shared interest that Castiel is flattered beyond comprehension. “It is not fair, Sire,” he manages to say shyly. “You have found my weakness, but I have yet to learn yours.”

Prince Dean rakes his eyes up and down his body slowly, finally settling on his lips rather obviously and causing desire to course through Castiel's body.

“I should think it was rather obvious,” Prince Dean says, his voice low and husky.

Castiel feels a swooping feeling in his stomach as his cheeks turn pink, and then Prince Dean startles him when he suddenly calls out, “Captain Laurent! I shall not need my horse or your services.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in shock as a small smile comes to his lips.

Prince Dean holds out a hand, which Castiel places his hand within somewhat tentatively, though he cannot even begin to wipe the growing smile off of his face.

Prince Dean's voice is soft and his eyes humble when he announces, “Today, I am simply Dean.”

And just like that, Castiel’s heart falls at his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel can still hardly believe this is happening to him. Prince Dean is courting him - isn’t he? He did hold his hand, and it wasn’t in the friendly sort of way that Balthy sometimes takes his hand. No, this is different. Any time Dean presses their shoulders together, or lets his hand fall on his lower back, Castiel feels as if his touch is warmer than the sun.

The journey to the monastery had been blissful all on its own. Dean is so easy to talk to. Witty and charming, with just a hint of rough edges that slip free whenever he forgets and lets his guard completely down. Castiel cherishes those moments the most, knowing not everyone gets the chance to see him this way.

Now though, Castiel is staring completely dumbfounded at the vast array of books surrounding him. He’s never seen so many books - so many of anything! - in one place before.

“It makes me want to cry,” he admits softly.

Dean can relate to the feeling. Charles is more beautiful than any man _or_ woman has the right to be. With those long, dark eyelashes framing the most breathtakingly blue eyes he’s ever had the pleasure of looking into, and lips so pink he’s wondered if he has some sort of dye on them, he’s almost too gorgeous to look at directly. Like staring into the sun. His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones high and angular, and oh, how Dean itches to feel the the beginnings of his growing stubble beneath his fingers.

“Pick one,” Dean tells him.

Charles lets out a shuddering breath. “I could no sooner choose a favorite star in the heavens.”

Jesus Christ, where does he come up with this stuff? He’s never been so enchanted by anybody in his life, and he’s absolutely desperate to learn more about this man.

“What is it that touches you so?” Dean asks.

“I guess it’s because when I was young, my father would stay up late and read to me,” Charles explains. “He was addicted to the written word, and I would fall asleep to the sound of his voice.”

Charles manages to convey a plethora of feelings with just that one memory. Happiness, sadness, tragedy, longing, love. “What kind of books did he read you?”

“Science, philosophy,” Charles answers airly. “I suppose books remind me of him more than anything else. He died when I was eight.”

Dean can’t possibly resist placing his hand between the man’s shoulder blades, stroking his back gently in a gesture of comfort. Quite honestly, Dean can’t seem to resist touching him at every opportunity, and every single time Dean gives into temptation, Charles smiles at him or his face heats up. Dean feels answering heat stirring within himself because Charles isn’t pushing him away. Charles isn’t looking at him as if he’s a sinner. No, Charles is looking at him like he hung the moon, and for some reason, Dean gets the impression it’s _despite_ the fact that he’s Prince, not because of it.

He’s perfect.

 _“Utopia_ was the last book he brought home.”

“Which explains why you quote it,” Dean comments, cursing himself for not being able to think of something more clever to say in order to continue the conversation.

“I would rather hear his voice than _any_ other sound in the world,” Charles says on a sigh.

Dean’s heart aches. Of all the things he possesses - riches beyond comprehension, status, land - this is one thing he cannot give to him. Something must show on his face, because Charles’s eyebrows furrow as he asks, “Is something wrong?”

Dean shakes his head and offers a gentle smile. “In all my years of study, not one tutor ever managed to demonstrate the passion you have shown me in the last two days. You have more conviction in one memory than I have in my entire being.”

Charles tilts his head in confusion, looking endlessly adorable. “Your Highness, if there is anything I have said...”

“Please, no,” Dean says quickly. “It’s not you, Charles. You are absolutely captivating.”

The blush that rises to Charles’s face is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he has to physically force himself to turn away from him so he doesn’t make a rash decision in public that could have serious ramifications for them both.

“Shall we begin our journey back?” he asks. “As sad as I am to leave your side, it’s quite a journey and I don’t want there to be rumors if I keep you out too late.”

“Let them gossip,” Charles says, his eyes bright with mischief.

“You, sir, are going to get me into very real trouble,” Dean teases. “Please, Charles. Allow me to escort you home like a proper gentleman.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” Charles responds.

Honestly, Castiel is loathe to the leave the side of Prince Dean as well, but he also knows there’s only so long he can be away before he’s missed - if he hasn’t been already. And so he follows to the carriage and climbs inside dutifully, and takes comfort in the way the Prince’s knee presses against his even though there’s plenty of room.

 

***

 

The Baroness watches meticulously as the royal party gets seated in their carriage. She fingers the stolen heirloom that had been given to her by an easily bribed guard, and knows this is it. She passes it to Michael and says, “Make haste, Michael. It’s now or never.”

Michael takes it from her and approaches the carriage.

“It was a lovely service,” Queen Mary says to her party.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Michael says timidly. “I believe you dropped this on your way out of the church.” He holds out the necklace to her and sees her jaw slacken with surprise. He should be an actor, for goodness sake. She's eating out of the palm of his hand!

“My goodness!” she exclaims, reaching out for it. “I don’t even remember putting it on this morning! Thank you, child. It is a rare person indeed who would return such a valuable keepsake.”

Michael bows his head in a fake show of modesty as he begins to back away. “You are too magnanimous, Your Majesty.”

“How very kind,” she responds. Michael hears her whisper, “What is his name?”

“Michael DeGhent,” somebody responds.

“Er... Michael?” she calls. “We shall have a chat tomorrow, you and I. Bring your mother.”

Michael nods and smiles shyly even as self satisfaction curls within him. That was almost too easy. “As you wish.”

 

***

 

Castiel falls against Prince Dean’s strong frame entirely as the carriage jolts sometime later, and Prince Dean wraps an arm around him protectively before he draws his sword as they come to a stop. “Stay put,” Dean tells him, and Castiel waits only a moment before disregarding his words and hopping out after him. “Why did I even think you would heed my warning?” Dean asks wryly.

“I honestly have no idea,” Castiel responds, taking in the sight of the lopsided carriage.

“Well, this is terribly embarrassing,” Dean admits, gesturing to the broken tire.

“We’ll head back to the monastery at once,” the guard announces.

Thinking of how much time would be wasted sitting here just waiting for assistance when he needs to be getting home, Castiel begins walking down the path and says, “And we shall continue on foot."

“But it’s half a day’s walk!” Dean complains from behind him.

Castiel throws a smile over his shoulder. “Honestly, Your Highness. Where _is_ your sense of adventure?”

When he sees Dean hurry in his direction, he ducks his head to hide his smile. He has  _a prince_ chasing after him.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Dean says, now close enough to his side that their hands brush. Secretly, Castiel hopes Prince Dean will take his hand again, but lacks the courage to ask for it. He gets his wish a while later, when after their hands have made contact a dozen times with neither of them making a move, Dean’s big hand captures his and holds it gently as they continue to walk.

 

***

 

Strolling back into the manor after church, Naomi addresses her children.

“Now, we mustn’t be too confident, boys. The Prince wasn’t in church today and we need to know why.”

Gabriel sighs. “Michael gets to do everything!”

“Oh, don’t be daft, Gabriel. The Queen doesn’t even know you exist,” Michael says.

“What Michael does is for all of us, and we’re counting on you to help him get ready,” the Baroness tells him.

“Great,” Gabriel says sarcastically. “Next thing you know, I shall be cleaning the fireplace with Castiel.”

The Baroness stops short. “Where _is_ that boy?”

“Probably off catching rabbits with his teeth,” Michael offers.

Ellen enters the room with her eyes cast downwards. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but that mirror in your bedchamber... did you move it?”

“Of course not. Why?”

“It’s also missing,” Ellen says sadly.

“Then it, too, shall come out of your pay.”

Ellen bows out of the room and catches Bobby’s eye.

“Either you stop tellin’ her when things go missing, or we’ll be paying _her_ to work,” Bobby gripes.

“Good thing I didn't’ mention the tapestries,” Ellen says under her breath.

 

***

 

Castiel blames the way his head is floating in the clouds when he realizes he has no idea where they are and stops to ask Dean for directions. Dean looks startled that he’s even been asked.

“Me? I haven’t the foggiest! I thought you knew when you took off in this direction,” Dean admits.

Seeing the panic and embarrassment on Dean’s face has Castiel springing into action.

“No matter, Your Highness, I will simply find out for myself.” He looks down at his fancy garments and knows there’s no way he can do what he needs to do dressed like this. “However, I’m going to need you to be an honorable Prince and turn around while I disrobe.”

Dean makes some kind of undignified choking sound before he manages to squeak, _“Disrobe?”_

“Yes, Sire. I need to climb one of these trees and I refuse to do so in such constricting clothing.”

“No, Charles, absolutely not. Allow me,” Dean insists.

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “The Prince knows how to climb trees?”

“Well, no, but I’m certain I can figure it out.”

Castiel shakes his head. “My apologies, Your Highness, but I’m afraid I must insist. The life of a Prince is much more important than the life of a courtier.” And without another word, he begins to strip off his coat and Dean spins around to give him his privacy.

Now down to his breeches and shirt, he begins his ascent. It’s been years since he’s climbed trees like this, but it comes back to him easily, and he climbs swiftly.

“You would think I would know the way to my own castle!” Dean laments from below him.

“Why is it that royalty doesn’t stop to ask for directions?” Castiel jokes as he reaches the highest part of the tree. “Ah ha! There it is! It is back that way!”

Dean groans in frustration. “I still can’t believe I’m down here while you’re up there! What kind of impression am I bestowing upon you?”

Castiel chuckles as he begins to make his way back down. “Did you ever consider I don’t wish for you to bestow any impression that isn’t entirely genuine? That you may be enough just as you are?”

“I have never done a thing in my life to be proud of,” Dean confesses quietly. “How could I be enough for someone such as you?”

“I dare say you have many days remaining, Your Highness,” Castiel says kindly.

“And yet you’re the one in the tree, in your undergarments no less!”

“I couldn’t very well climb up in those restricting clothes, now could I?” Castiel retorts, slipping back into their familiar banter. “Besides, if you broke your royal neck, then where would we be?”

“So you swim alone, climb trees, rescue servants. Is there anything you don’t do?” Dean asks, a tone of awe in his voice.

“Fly,” Castiel breathes with a smile. “Now, be a gentleman and turn around so I can get back down with my dignity still intact.”

Amused at the situation despite himself, Dean turns around and sees a familiar face: the gypsy that tried to steal Charlie’s painting.

“Oh great. It’s you again,” Dean complains. Then when he sees the gypsy's sword raised, he draws his own and raises his voice when he sees several other gypsies closing in around him. “Stay aloft, Charles! There are games afoot.”

The gypsy he knows leans over and picks up the coat and trousers Charles had been so set on keeping in good condition. “I thank you for these fine garments!” the gypsy calls out.

Dean hears Charles’s voice steady and sure come from above them. “You _will_ give me back my clothing, sir!”

Knowing this is his chance to prove to Charles that he is an able warrior if nothing else, he strikes at the gypsy in order to win back his garments. Dean is an excellent swordsman, one of the best in the county thanks to so much time spent dueling with Sam, and he methodically defeats his opponents one at a time.

That is, until he hears a rustle in the trees and sees Charles drop out from the branches above and onto the back of the gypsy who is still holding his garments. Charles scrambles for a sword of his own when he gets to his feet, but is overpowered by several others, and Dean’s heart leaps to his throat when he sees one of the gypsies hold a knife to his throat.

“No!” he shouts. “Let him go! Your quarrel is with me,” he pants, short on breath from taking on so many gypsies at once. “Release him!”

The gypsy he began the altercation with nods his head, and Charles is released at the same time Dean lowers his sword in defeat. It’s kicked away from him and he’s flanked by two gypsies bracketing him on either side. He has no hope of escaping this. He’s going to be taken prisoner.

Charles has barely taken a breath once he’s released before he begins shouting demands. “I insist you return my things at once! And since you deprive me of my escort, I demand a horse as well.”

The gypsy’s eyebrows shoot up, and Dean stands there slack jawed at the balls this guy has. Even he, the Prince, isn’t brave or foolish enough to speak to these men that way when they’re outnumbered such as they are.

The gypsy makes a face of contemplation, and responds, “You may have anything you can carry.”

Charles’s face settles into stone, but Dean’s certain he can see fire in his eyes. “May I have your word on that, sir?” Charles asks.

The gypsy seems to think it over again, but nods his agreement. “On my honor as a Gypsy, whatever you can carry.”

Dean watches with interest as Charles bypasses the garments he was so worried about before and approaches him instead. He lifts one of Dean’s arms over his head and around his shoulders, then bends down to lift him under his knees, and stands with Dean cradled in his arms like he’s a damsel in distress. Dean’s eyes are wide with surprise and embarrassment when Charles turns to face the gypsy, gives a small incline of his head, and begins walking in the direction of the castle.

He can’t blame the gypsies at all when laughter starts behind him, growing louder with each step Charles takes with the Prince in his arms, until finally the head gypsy bellows, “Alright! Alright! Come back, please! I’ll give you a damn horse!”

Somehow, Castiel’s moment of bravery had earned them both the respect and protection of the gypsies, and he and Prince Dean are escorted to their nearby camp. The gypsies keep supplying them both with a warm beverage that lights something deep inside of him with every sip and has his head spinning delightfully.

The Prince is affected as well, though clearly not so much as he, and the two of them are huddled close together in front of the fire chuckling and playing _Rock, Paper, Scissors._

They both draw scissors and Castiel can’t help laughing heartily. “You are reading my thoughts, my lord.”

“And they’re as fuzzy as my own, Charles,” Dean teases.

“Then France concedes?” Castiel checks.

“Never!” Dean says playfully. He lowers his voice and leans in even closer to Castiel, causing his heart to skip several beats as it gallops inside his chest. “My next choice will be paper.”

Knowing not to take him at his word whatsoever, Castiel chooses rock and they both burst into another fit of laughter when Dean plays scissors.

“That means it's your turn to tell me a secret, and it had better be good,” he tells the Prince.

The Prince looks deep into his eyes and confesses, “I have no desire to be King.”

Castiel is floored by the confession. “But - but think of all the wonderful things you could do for the country, for the world!”

“Yes,” Dean agrees, “but to be so defined by your position? To only be seen for what you are meant to be instead of for who you truly are? You don’t know how insufferable that is.”

Castiel arches a brow. “You might be surprised.”

“Really?” Dean asks, intrigued.

He notices suddenly that Dean has his hand on his knee, and he almost stumbles over his words as they come. “A Gypsy, for example, is rarely painted as anything else. They’re defined by their status as your title defines you, yet it is not who they are.”

“It is not who I am, either,” Dean says quietly. “I don’t - I do not believe in everything I’m supposed to believe in.” His hand caresses Castiel’s knee, and Castiel can feel the way he's trembling. “I know I should, but I do not believe that feeling this way is a sin.”

“Nor do I,” Castiel admits breathlessly, saying it aloud for the first time. “You have been born into privilege, though, Your Highness, and that comes with specific obligations and expectations. Regardless of how either of us feels, I’m absolutely certain that I do not fall within any of the demands from the castle.” He pauses when he sees the way Dean has managed to move even closer to him. “I’m sorry. My mouth has run away with me again.”

“No,” Dean says, also breathless. “It is your mouth that has me hypnotized.”

Castiel’s heart stutters as Prince Dean leans in slowly, and then warmth explodes within him when he feels those plush lips pressed against his own for the first time. Castiel is entirely inexperienced, and doesn’t even manage to close his eyes at first, so rocked by the jumble of so many new sensations. That is, until they slip closed if their own accord as pleasure overtakes him after another soft prod of Dean’s lips. Then he’s kissing him back as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Their lips move together in a dance as old as time, and he hears Dean make a low, desperate sound in his throat that shoots directly between his legs.

Dean’s tongue is wet against the seam of his lips, and he parts them automatically, melting against im as Dean’s tongue enters his mouth and massages his. He sinks into the strong arms that have wrapped around him, and with his heart beating in his ears, he doesn't register the sound of cheering and whooping until Dean’s broken their kiss.

They make eye contact and both burst into nervous laughter when they see the entirety of the gypsy camp watching the two of them and celebrating for them instead of scorning them. Dean waves them away with delightfully pink cheeks and leans forwards until they’re forehead to forehead.

“Would you - would you like to go somewhere more private, away from the prying eyes of two dozen gypsies?” Dean asks nervously.

“Are you trying to get an unescorted courtier alone in the dark of night, Your Highness?” he teases.

“For the first time in my life, yes,” Dean answers sincerely. “Though if you wish to remain where we can be seen, I completely understand and will honor your wishes as I continue to enjoy whatever blessings you choose to share with me.”

Castiel offers his hand without another thought and allows Dean to pull him to his feet. There’s another cheer of glee and a round of raucous laughter when Dean leads him away from the light of the fire and around the side of a cave.

Dean feels like he has been lit on fire inside and out for the first time, and he wants nothing more than to feed the flames. Charles’s lips were softer than he ever dared to imagine, and the scrape of his stubble against his own did things to his body he’d never felt before. He’s eager for more, but acutely aware of how taboo this is. Not only because they’re both men, but because they’re not married or engaged. But Dean’s always been reckless, and he is now, too.

“Please know you can say no, Charles, but may I kiss you again?” Dean asks him.

“I’d like that very much,” Charles replies softly, and Dean reacts without thinking. He lifts his hands to his face and brushes his thumbs over those cheekbones he’s been thinking about ever since he first saw them as he brings their lips back together. Charles is the one who opens his mouth this time and Dean takes the offering gladly.

The taste of him is spicy from the gypsies mead, and he laps at it, sucking gently on the tip of his tongue and eliciting a moan from Charles that sets his nerve endings aflame. God, how he _wants._ His hands slide back into the dark hair that’s always so wild, and continues a slow journey down to the back of his neck and over his strong shoulders. He clutches at them, moaning himself when he feels his body so firm with muscle.

He feels Charles’s hands slide around his waist to pull him in closer, and Dean loses his footing with his eagerness and stumbles forwards, pushing Charles back against the cave wall. Thankfully his hands are high enough on his shoulders that he’s able to stop him from slamming his head against the wall, and there’s a muffled sound of laughter between them while they right themselves again. Dean tries to pull away so they aren’t pressed against one another so intimately, but Charles resists, chasing Dean’s mouth and luring him back in with a curl of his tongue that has Dean’s stomach swooping.

God, Castiel has never felt anything so wonderful. All of his adult life he’s been denied what he truly wants, never allowed to have a single thing for himself or to do anything purely for pleasure. But this, being with Prince Dean, tasting his mouth and feeling Prince Dean’s hands on him is more pleasurable than he ever could have imagined and he’s positively drunk with it.

He feels his heart thudding and his head growing dizzy with every additional caress of Dean’s tongue and his hands, and recklessly holds him in place firm against his body even after Dean tries to pull away. Dean shifts, and Castiel makes a sound of surprise against his lips when he feels Dean’s arousal pressing steadily against his leg. Distantly, he feels a sense of tranquility knowing that Dean's body is reacting the same as his.

Dean’s lips leave his and he drags in air needily, but it comes out in a shallow whine when he feels those full lips move across his jaw and to his neck. Surely Dean is able to feel the way his skin sparks from his mouth.

“You’re unbelievable,” Dean gasps. “Never felt anything so sensual. Never tasted anything so decadent. Never smelled anything so intoxicating.”

Castiel’s head is spinning. “Please, Sir,” he begs him.

“Dean,” Dean pleads in return. _“Please_ call me Dean when I’m with you.”

“Dean,” Castiel says happily. He feels Dean’s lips nipping at the skin on his throat and the next time he says his name it comes out like a prayer. _“Dean.”_

Following instincts older than his years, his hips rock forwards and his erection drags against Dean’s hip.

“Oh _fuck,”_ Dean groans. Then almost instantly, “Sorry.”

“No, please,” Castiel begs him again, both unaware and uncaring if Dean’s apologizing for his language or the way his hard length is pressing back against Castiel's hip insistently. “Don’t stop.”

“Mmmm,” Dean hums happily, catching his lips in another desperate kiss.

Dean’s mouth is rougher this time, more demanding, and Castiel does everything he can to match his fervor, wanting Dean to know he wants this just as badly as he does. He recognizes the feeling in his stomach as his impending orgasm, and the promise of reaching it with an audience is terrifying, but so tempting that he doesn’t want to stop.

Dean completely loses his head, chasing his pleasure blindly while giving as much as possible to Charles in return. He drags his teeth along Charles’s bottom lip, urged to keep going by the breathy sounds Charles is letting out each time they move against one another. With a sudden stroke of brilliance, Dean angles his hips so that their erections slide against one another directly, drawing dual sounds of pleasure from their lips.

“Oh, _Dean.”_ His name comes from Charles’s exquisite mouth in a shuddering breath, sending arousal rushing through him as he presses into him again and again, rocking his hips and dragging their cocks together. “Dean, Dean, _Dean,”_ Charles chants. His voice is low and rough, and just hearing the masculine tone has his pleasure spiking dangerously.

“Mmmf,” Dean replies, words lost to him for the moment as his hands drift down to Charles’s hips. He can feel the notch of his hip bones, sharp against his palms, and wants desperately to touch and taste all of him.

“Can I - can I touch you?” Dean asks, slowly lowering his hands towards where their cocks are pressed together.

“I - I’m not sure.”

For the first time, Dean hears fear wavering in his voice, and he doesn’t want any part of Charles that he isn’t willing to give.

“That’s alright, darling,” Dean assures him, the endearment slipping from his mouth without another thought. He kisses him gently, softly, pouring as much of what he’s feeling into him as he can without actually saying it. “We can stop this now if you’d like.”

 _Stop?_ Castiel thinks with horror. “No, no, no,” Castiel says quickly. “Please, don’t stop. Just like this, Dean. Please.”

“I will give you anything,” Dean promises, resuming the thrusting of his hips and stealing the breath from him all over again. Feeling brave, he pushes his hands up underneath Dean’s coat, basking in the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt and onto his palms. Dean lets go of his hips to pull his shirt free from his trousers, and Castiel takes the offering, sliding his hands up under both layers and onto his bare skin for the first time.

“Oh, yes,” Dean breathes. “Your hands are so big. So strong. So perfect.”

The heat swirling in Castiel’s stomach climbs quickly to the apex as he feels just how strong Dean’s back is beneath his hands. His back muscles roll enticingly with each thrust of his hips, and Castiel can no longer concentrate enough to continue kissing him. His hands tighten on his lower back, and his nails dig into his skin, as he feels himself pushed closer and closer to his release.

“Dean, Dean, I’m - I’m about to reach my climax,” he stutters, embarrassed but eager to find it with Dean.

 _“Yes,”_ Dean sighs. “I want you to. I want you to feel so good,” he says, moving his mouth hot and wet along his neck again.

“Are - are you?” Castiel checks.

Dean groans and squeezes his eyes shut, already trying with everything he has to hold on. “So damn close, you have no idea.”

“Please, Dean. I want - I want to feel it.”

“Oh _fuck,”_ Dean growls as he’s thrown over the edge he was clinging to so tightly only a moment before. He feels his body go taut, his skin heat up beyond meausre, and warm liquid erupts from his cock with more force than he’s ever been able to accomplish on his own.

Charles lets out a choked off whimper as Dean feels his body tense as well, and when Charles buries his face into the crook of Dean’s neck with a fractured sigh of his name, Dean knows he’ll never hear anything so erotic again for as long as he lives.

Dean keeps him close, stroking his hand through the back of his sweaty hair as their hearts slow between them. Several minutes later, when their breathing sounds somewhat normal again, he pulls away enough to check Charles’s expression, but he’s nowhere near prepared for the sight that greets him.

Charles’s cheeks are flushed with a mixture of exertion and arousal, his lips are kissed swollen and slick with his own spit, and his usually bright blue eyes are dark but hold a soft expression that makes his heart tumble in his chest.

Is this love? Is this what Charlie was talking about earlier - about paying attention? Dean knows he’s never paid so close attention to anything, and still, he wants to know more about Charles. He wants to sleep with him in his arms. Hear him laugh a dozen times a day. Learn every inch of his body. Take care of him whenever he'll allow it. Infuriate him until his eyes spit fire at him again, and calm him with a dozen press of his lips. 

“Are you quite alright?” Dean inquires.

Castiel can’t possibly rein in his smile. “No, Your Highness,” Castiel responds. “I’m quite sure I bypassed _alright_ the moment our lips met for the first time. This? This must be euphoria.”

Dean’s answering smile is absolutely gorgeous. “I’m pleased I’m not the only one there at the moment,” Dean responds, leaning in to kiss him again. “I’ve never indulged in anything like this before.”

Castiel’s heart fills impossibly more. “Nor have I. And though I’m loathe to say it now when I wish to remain in your arms for all of time, I really do need to be getting home.”

Dean’s body goes rigid with fear. “Not because - because of what just transpired, right?”

Castiel raises his hand to the Prince’s unbelievably handsome face. “Not at all. You have my word.”

Dean nods. “Alright. Let’s see if we can borrow that horse, then.”

After a failed attempt at hiding the stains in their trousers and a well deserved ribbing from the gypsies, they are supplied a horse and are bid farewell by their new friends. Castiel rides the entire way back home leaning back against Dean’s strapping chest with his strong arms around him as Dean presses dozens of kisses against his neck and shoulders, and he realizes now that he was completely ignorant of just how happy it was possible to be until this very moment.

“Just here,” Castiel says quietly when they get close enough to his house. “I don’t want to wake anyone.”

Dean dismounts from the horse first, and though he doesn’t require his assistance, he accepts it with a smile when Dean’s big hands come up to his hips to help him slide to his feet.

With the way Dean’s looking down at him, he’s not at all surprised when he lowers his mouth to take his lips in another soft and lingering kiss that melts him into a puddle at his feet.

“You saved my life, you know, back there in the woods,” Dean says quietly once he’s pulled away.

“A boy does what he can, Sire,” Castiel responds, still smiling.

“Dean,” he insists again.

“Dean,” Castiel says with an impossibly bigger smile.

“Do you know the ruins at Amboise?” Dean asks. Castiel nods as Dean's fingers trace his face. “I often go there to be alone. Would you meet me there tomorrow? I believe we have many things we need to discuss.”

Knowing that there’s very little chance of getting away so soon, but still wanting to spend as much time as he possibly can with Dean, he responds, “I shall try.”

“Then I shall wait all day,” Dean promises before kissing his fingers, and then Castiel walks into his home feeling as if he’s floating on air.


	4. Chapter 4

The King and Queen are asleep in bed when Prince Dean bursts in.

“Off - off with his head,” King John murmurs, still mostly asleep.

“John, wake up. Our son has something to tell us,” Mary says, shaking him awake.

“Mother, father, I want to build a university,” Dean declares. “With the largest library in Europe, where people of any station can study!”

King John regards him skeptically. “All right. Who are you and what have you done with our son?”

Dean throws his head back and laughs as he walks back out of the room, feeling more free, more happy, and more inspired than he ever dreamed he could. He stops midway through the door and turns back again. “Oh! I almost forgot. I want to invite the gypsies to the ball!”

As Dean leaves them again, John turns to Mary.

“What on Earth was that all about?”

“I’m not sure, but I’m going to find out,” she remarks, and gets out of bed to begin her day.

 

***

 

Castiel gasps as he’s shaken awake and sees his stepmother and step brothers before him.

“Are you ill!?” the Baroness asks him.

“No,” Castiel answers sleepily, sitting up and then feeling his head begin to pound as the light reaches his eyes. “Ugh, yes. I am.”

“Where were you last night?” the Baroness demands.

“I... got lost,” Castiel lies, and not well considering the pain he’s in.

“I don’t believe you,” the Baroness tells him. “You’re hiding something from us, and I demand to know what it is!”

Feeling unwell and yet still riding a high from last night, Castiel sasses her. “Why don’t you tell me what it is then so I can get back to sleep?”

If he had his eyes open, he would have been quite amused to see the look of pure consternation on all three faces.

“What about our breakfast!?” Michael asks in disbelief.

“You have two hands,” Castiel says tiredly. “Get it yourself.”

“Why you lazy little leech!” Michael responds.

“Gabriel, go and boil some water,” the Baroness commands.

“Who me!? Boil water!?” Gabriel asks, then seeing the hard look on his mother’s face that means she isn’t about to back down, he grumbles as he storms away. “Oh, I knew it! I just knew it!”

 

***

Thankfully, a little bit more sleep and thoughts of last night are enough to get Castiel’s headache to mostly disappear. It’s midday now, and Castiel is outside tending to the garden with a small smile on his lips as he remembers how it felt to have Dean’s strong arms wrapped around him.

He looks up when Ellen pokes her head out of a window. “Boy, you better get in here, and quick!”

Knowing something must be terribly wrong, Castiel drops what he’s doing and hustles into the house. He walks into the room to see his father’s jacket being held up to Michael’s shoulders again, and this time when they see him enter, they don’t pretend they’re not sizing it against his frame.

“Oh, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” the Baroness says sarcastically.

“What do you think you are doing?” Castiel asks, his voice cold as ice.

“Trying on my new outfit for the ball,” Micheal answers.

Castiel feels rage race through his veins. How dare he?

“Did you honestly think that after this morning I’d allow you to go anywhere?” the Baroness asks him.

Castiel exhales a long breath through his nose. “Do you honestly think these games, these intrigues, are going to win you a crown? To hunt royalty like some sport, it’s disgusting!”

“You’re just jealous,” Michael says.

Castiel doesn’t even bother trying to suppress his eye roll, knowing he and only he has been with Dean the way Michael dreams to be.

“These garments are my father’s,” he tells Michael as he steps forwards and grabs the trousers out of Michael’s hands.

There’s an evil smile on Michael’s face when he retaliates with, “Yes, and he’s dead.”

If Castiel thought he knew rage before, it’s nothing compared to the utter fury that overcomes him now. He takes two steps forward and before he even _thinks_ about the consequences of his actions, he rears his fist back and slams it into Michael’s stupid, smarmy face. He allows himself a split second to enjoy the way Michael drops backwards onto the bed like the weakling he is before he gives into his anger again and shouts, _“I am going to rip your head off!”_

Obviously knowing Castiel means business, Michael takes off at a run, and Castiel doesn’t hesitate before he gives chase with his father’s trousers still in hand. Michael has been asking for this - and more - for longer than he can remember, and if he’s going to be whipped for misbehaving already, he’s going to get in as many licks as he can.

“Mother! Mother, do something!” Michael calls as Castiel chases him through the house and into the study.

He only pauses when he sees Michael grab his father’s copy of _Utopia_ to hold it over the fireplace.

“No!” Castiel cries.

“Get away from me, or so help me God...” Michael threatens.

“No, Michael! Don’t! Put it down,” Castiel begs him with his heart in his throat. That book is the last thing his father ever touched and he cannot fathom losing it.

“Give me the trousers!” Michael barters.

“Put it down!” Castiel says again, loathe to hand over the clothes his father wore on his wedding day, as well.

The Baroness storms into the room behind them and only increases Castiel’s rage when she doesn’t do anything to stop Michael. His father was her husband, surely she doesn’t want to see his book burn either!

“Consider carefully, Castiel. Your father’s book or your father’s trousers,” she says icily. “Though neither will save you from a sound lashing.”

Castiel wavers. He’d rather die than see Michael in his father’s clothing, but the book has an additional meaning to him now, considering it was what first brought he and Dean together. Faced with an impossible choice, he places the trousers down on the table next to his stepmother. Michael straightens up as if he’s going to return the book, then in the very next second, throws it into the flames.

“NO!” Castiel shouts, moving immediately to pull it from the fire with his bare hands if he has to, but Naomi gets her hands around his shoulders and holds him back just long enough that the flames begin to eat at the pages.

“NO!” he yells again, feeling his heart turn to ash along with the book as his legs give out and he collapses onto the floor. “No! No, no, no!”

Time loses meaning. Every thought, every breath, every movement is all pain. As lost in emotional agony as he is, he barely feels the whip as it cuts into his skin over and over again as he’s punished for his transgressions against his stepbrother. As much as his skin hurts and stings, it’s nothing compared to the loss of his father’s book.

As Gabriel tends to the wounds left behind, Castiel wallows in self-loathing. All of this is his fault. He deserves it all. He’s lost himself. He's lost his head when it came to the Prince, when it came to his family, when it came to his morals. He’s been lying to Dean. He let Dean be intimate with him even while he knew Dean wasn't aware of who or what he really is. Dean who has been so kind, so wonderful, so _perfect_. Dean has no idea that Castiel’s been deceitful this whole time. He may be willing to look past the fact that he’s a man, that what they’ve done together is punishable by law, but will he also be able to look past the dishonesty and the fact that he’s a commoner?

Dean deserves to know the truth, even if it means goodbye forever.

“You really brought this on yourself, you know,” Gabriel says, not unkindly.

“Hmm?” Castiel asks, dragged from his own thoughts.

“First with breakfast, then that horrid display of violence downstairs,” Gabriel clarifies.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Castiel admits, thinking both of Michael and Dean.

“Of course,” Gabriel says quietly, “I shall never forget the way Michael dropped like a sack of manure from a single punch.” Castiel can’t help the chuckle that comes out of him, even though it does cause his back to shake and the wounds to sting again. Gabriel’s voice is softer still when he says, “He should not have said that about your father, Castiel.”

Castiel feels tears spring to his eyes from the rare display of kindness towards him. “Thank you.”

 

***

 

Michael and the Baroness are having tea with the Queen at the Palace, and everything would be going swimmingly if it wasn’t for the black eye Michael has. Curse Castiel for ruining this for them. Thankfully, Naomi has constructed a rather brilliant tale to explain it, and the Queen is gobbling it up.

“You really must let my doctor look at that,” Queen Mary says softly. “To think you saved that baby from a runaway horse and this is the thanks you get.”

“It was just instinct, Your Majesty,” Michael says humbly.

“Even so." She sips at her tea before she continues, "I do apologize once more for my eldest son not being able to join us today. He seems to have disappeared again,” Mary confesses, amused by Dean’s antics.

“Again?” the Baroness questions.

“I’m afraid so. He was gone all day yesterday and did not return until dawn. He barely slept at all and was gone again when we woke!”

“Well! It must be marvellous to have that kind of stamina,” the Baroness comments.

“Perhaps you could help to solve a mystery for me,” the Queen asks. “Do you know the Count Shurley? Apparently he’s staying with a cousin, but nobody seems to know who.”

The Baroness feels herself fill with dread as a harrowing possibility occurs to her. “Charles Shurley?”

“Yes!” the Queen exclaims happily. “Oh, how wonderful! I was begging to think he was a ghost.”

“No, I’m afraid he’s been around for years,” the Baroness replies dryly. “And he’s staying with us, actually.” She catches Michael’s eye and sees he isn’t following. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Yes... of course. Our cousin,” he says, doing a poor job of hiding his confusion.

Through clenched teeth, the Baroness explains, “Almost like a brother to you, isn’t he, Michael?”

Michael’s eyes go wide as understanding hits him, and he gets to his feet, stalking a few steps away while he begins shouting at the top of his lungs, stomping his feet and waving his arms about as he throws a spectacular temper tantrum. Completely at a loss at how on Earth she’s supposed to salvage this meeting after _that_ , Naomi glares at him as Michael returns to his seat.

“Good heavens, child. Are you quite alright?” Queen Mary asks, clearly disturbed.

Michael’s voice is calm and his eyes wide and innocent when he replies, “There was a bee.”

With nothing else to do, the Baroness laughs while her mind races, trying to come up with a way she can keep the Prince away from Castiel. 

 

***

Castiel is in more pain than he’s ever been in before, both physically and emotionally, and he knows it’s only going to get worse when he tells Dean the truth about who he really is. He struggles to even stand straight, and the journey to the ruins is excruciating.

When he walks inside, he turns to take it all in, and it’s absolutely beautiful. As he circles the room, his eyes fall upon Dean, and _oh,_ how is he supposed to give this man up and hurt him in the process?

“Hello,” Prince Dean says with awe in his voice as if he, too, can’t believe his eyes when they fall on him.

“Hello,” Castiel echoes timidly.

The Prince hurries to his side and scrutinizes his expression closely. “Are you well?”

Castiel immediately ducks his head, not willing to lie anymore than he already has. “I fear that I am not myself today,” he says quietly.

 _“I_ feel as if my skin is the only thing keeping me from going everywhere at once,” Dean confesses softly. “I’ve never felt so much in my life.”

Castiel’s heart flies and then comes crashing back down in a single moment. “There is something I must tell you.”

“And I you,” Dean says excitedly. “Oh here, your book. You left it in the carriage yesterday.”

“Your Highness -” Castiel begins.

“Dean,” Prince Dean corrects softly, causing butterflies to flutter in his stomach again. He leans in and catches Castiel’s lips in a lingering kiss, and Castiel’s eyes slip closed as he lets the warmth run through him, healing something deep inside him more and more with every glorious moment their lips cling to one another.

When Dean pulls away, his hands remain on his face, as if he no more wants to stop touching him than Castiel wants him to. His green eyes are dark, and there’s a small smile curving his lips and Castiel can barely catch his breath already. He must not allow himself to get swept away in everything the Prince is offering.

“I cannot stay long, but I had to see you. I’m afraid there is much to say,” Castiel says sadly.

Dean can hardly believe it feels as unbelievable with Charles right now as he did last night. He had tried to convinced himself it was merely a figment of his imagination - or a side effect of the mead clouding his head. But no, Charles actually is everything he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about and more. He really does make him feel like this - like he can do anything - and he wants to tell him all about it.

“Come,” Dean says, “I want to show you something.” There is hesitation in Charles’s big blue eyes, but Dean tugs him onward to what he needs to share anyway. “I used to play here as a boy with my brother,” he tells him, showing him the grand, open space. “It was my father’s most cherished retreat before the war.”

“It’s beautiful,” Charles says, slightly breathless.

His voice sounds a little off today, actually. Well, he did say he wasn’t feeling like himself. Perhaps all he needs is a distraction. He points to some of his favorite places while he twines their fingers together. “I’ve measured my life by these trees. Starting here, all the way up to there. And still they grow.” He turns to face Charles and lifts his hand to caress his beautiful face. “There is so much life left to live, but I no longer imagine living it alone,” he confesses.

Charles drops his gaze, exhaling with a stuttering breath. “You are not making this easy.”

He sounds so sad, so broken, and Dean only wishes to put him back together. “I have not even slept for fear that I would wake to find everything there is between us only a dream,” he says quietly, shoving down the embarrassment of admitting such a thing aloud. “Last night I had a revelation. More than one, to be entirely honest with you,” he says with a grin, and finally, he sees Charles’s lips quirk at the corners. “I used to think that if I cared about anything, I would have to care about _everything,_ and I’d go stark raving mad! But now, because of you, I’ve found my purpose. It’s a project, actually, inspired by you. And because of you, I feel the most wonderful freedom.”

“It wasn’t me,” Charles says, his voice still coming out small and quiet when he’s usually so bold. “You had it within you all along, and you always will.”

“Charles, you are unlike any courtier I have ever met.” Charles flinches when Dean says his name, so Dean tilts his head down to brush their lips together once more, wanting only to make him happy. Charles looks up at him again once their lips part, so he’s sure he’s done something right and prepares to tell him the best part. “I have a meeting with my parents scheduled for this afternoon. They are the King and Queen of France, and I plan to ask them to change the laws so we can be together. My mother will do anything for my happiness, and my father doesn’t stand a chance against her. I _will_ persuade them, and then tomorrow at the masque, I shall make what you mean to me known to the world.”

Charles’s eyes fill with tears, and Dean can’t stop smiling at how happy he’s able to make him. He’s fighting back happy tears for heaven’s sake.

“Why did you have to be so wonderful?” Charles sighs, and he can feel his own body relax somewhat now that Charles sounds more like himself.

“Now, then. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

Something flickers in Charles’s eyes and he drops them for just a moment before a strained sob escapes his lips. Then he makes eye contact with those big, blue eyes of his still swimming with tears and says, “Simply that last night was the happiest night of my life.”

Wanting to be so much closer than they are, Dean winds his hands around his hips and pulls him against him. He runs his hands up his arms and to the back of his neck to cradle his head to his chest and feels happiness overtake him when he thinks about how perfectly Charles fits into his arms. He slides his hands down his back and Charles calls out, “Ah!” loudly as he takes a step away.

Panic makes his eyes go wide. Charles sounded as if he was in excruciating pain. “Are you al-”

“I must go!” Charles says suddenly, running off.

“Charles! No!”

But once again, it’s as if he’s disappeared into thin air, and Dean is left standing there in his favorite place in the world, which all at once feels much too big for just one person.

 

***

Castiel berates himself the entire journey home. How could he be so stupid, so foolish, so weak! Dean does not deserve the way he’s treated him, and still, he continues to do so!

He walks into the manor and sees the Baroness waiting for him at the door with her arms crossed and more anger than he's ever seen displayed on her face.

“Of all the insidious jokes, making your father out to be a Count! It’s almost as absurd as a Prince who spends his day with a servant who sleeps with the pigs!” the Baroness spits.

Knowing there is no going back now, Castiel holds his head high and asks, “What bothers you more, stepmother? That I am common or that I am competition - and that I am winning?”

The Baroness’s voice is hard as steel when she replies, “Where are the garments, Castiel?”

Castiel lies between his teeth when he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The jacket! The trousers!” Michael says, suddenly walking into the room. “They were in my room and now they’re gone! You hid them, I know it! And I want them back!” Castiel presses his lips closed and stares him down while he refuses to answer.

“Where did you put them, Castiel?” his stepmother demands.

Tears are burning behind his eyes with fury. He knows exactly where the garments are, but considering he is being blamed when _she’s_ been selling their own possessions and punishing the staff for it is beyond infuriating. Knowing full-well that his stepmother will know that he’s aware of what she’s been doing all this time but so far gone with anger and the injustices of the world, he explodes with, “Where are _the candlesticks_ and _tapestries,_ and _the silver!?_ Perhaps the garments are with them!”

Knowing without a doubt now that Castiel has them, the Baroness yells right back, “You _will_ produce those garments!”

Castiel's voice is unwavering even as a single tear escapes and rolls down his cheek. “I would rather die a thousand deaths than to see _my father’s garments_ -” So much for calm. He’s shouting now louder than he’s ever shouted in his life. His voice is rough with emotion and fierce with anger as he continues, “- on that spoiled, _selfish cow!”_

He is absolutely shaking with rage as the Baroness pins him with a glare, but he will not back down from taking this stand. Not for anything.

“Perhaps we can arrange that,” his stepmother replies, and then he’s dragged down the stairs and thrown roughly into the cellar.

“Get in there!”

Castiel falls to the ground as he hears the lock click from the outside and despair overwhelms him. He’ll never be able to get out in time to find the Prince! Dean won’t know why he didn’t show up, and he’ll think he doesn’t love him back.

He barely hears his stepmother’s voice threaten the servants with, “You open this door and you’ll wish you never set foot in this house. Michael, Gabriel, gather everything that will fetch a price! We’re going to town first thing in the morning to buy proper garments.”

Gabriel’s voice comes out laden with confusion, “Mother, it’s only a ball.”

“Yes, and you’re only going for the sweets,” she snaps.

 

***

 

It's early the next day when Queen Mary enters her son's bedchambers.  
  
“While we would not object to you finding your happiness with a man, Dean, I’m afraid there’s something we must tell you first,” Queen Mary tells her son, urging him to take a seat.

“What is it, mother?” Dean asks, picking up on the pain in her voice. “Is it Sam? Is he alright?”

“It’s not your brother,” Mary says quickly. “It’s the Count. Charles. I met with his cousin this afternoon, sweetie, and... I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. But he’s engaged to another.”

Dean blinks, trying to clear his head. “Engaged?” he echoes, sure he isn’t hearing her right.

“To a Belgian,” she confirms.

“Engaged?” he says again, feeling an ache begin in his heart and spread so quickly, so painfully he feels like he’s been shot.

“I’m afraid so,” his mother says sadly.

“No. That’s impossible,” he says, thinking over everything they’ve shared together. The kisses, the passion, the connection. “There has to be some mistake.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. He was due to be travelling home by boat this afternoon. Baroness DeGhent was quite reluctant to talk about it.”

“It’s no wonder, with tidings such as these! If he was betrothed, he should have damn well had the decency to say something!” he says, the hurt inside of him now coming out as anger.

His mother covers his hand with hers. “Would you have listened?”

“Of course not! I would have fought for him! I would have made him see that he belongs with me! I would have -” Then he pauses as understanding hits him like lightning. He suddenly comprehends just what Charles was trying to tell him earlier. It’s all too clear now why he seemed so upset. “Oh, God. How could I have been so blind? There I was, pouring my royal heart out, asking him to spend his life with me... and he was simply trying to bid me farewell.”

“It is a strong man who can keep his wits about him with you trying to steal his heart,” Mary offers.

Dean scoffs as another wave of hurt rolls through him. He certainly hadn’t been _trying_ too hard to keep his wits about him last night when they were pressed up against that cave. Wasn’t it Charles who kept asking him not to stop?

“And what a clumsy thief I turned out to be,” he says miserably.

“Come, now, Dean. I’m afraid your father will not let up on the compromise he bequeathed you.”

Dean hangs his head in defeat. He tried to fight for love, he gave himself over to a man of all people, and still, he fell flat on his face. What’s the point? If he gives in now and marries for duty instead of love, at least he won’t have to face the risk of having his heart broken into a million little pieces again.

“Chin up, my dear. Any choice is better than Spain," his mother teases.

 

***

 

Bobby has Balthazar cornered in an alley in town.

“Go to the Prince and tell him what’s happened to Castiel!” he urges him.

“But - but I’m nobody! The Prince would never agree to see me,” Balthazar says.

“You are his best friend, Balthazar! He needs your help, and the Prince expects to see him!”

“I cannot!” Balthazar refuses. “Besides, my master has me working tonight.”

“Then go to Bradbury. Surely a painter can see another painter?”

“I am but an apprentice, and she is one of the best painters in the world! I could no sooner speak to God!”

Bobby smacks him upside the back of his head. “For once in your life, man, be bold!”

 

***

 

The Baroness leads the way down the stairwell as they walk out towards the carriage in their finest clothing to depart for the palace.

“I wanted to be the lion,” Gabriel complains again.

“Honestly Gabriel, the horse is one of God’s noblest creatures,” the Baroness assures him.

“Why don’t I just pull the carriage?” Gabriel says sarcastically.

“If you think it will get us there any faster, by all means,” the Baroness replies, matching his sarcasm with her own.

 

***

What in God’s name does he think he’s doing, trying to sneak onto the castle grounds? Why, he could be killed for this!

Balthazar hears Bobby’s words in his mind again, though: _For once in your life, man, be bold!_ and thinks of everything Castiel has gone through to get this far, and knows he has no other choice.

Climbing up the castle wall with some difficulty, he spots a Royal Page approaching and realizes that wearing the Page uniform will give him access to the ball. When the idea strikes, he grabs a flowerpot and lines it up, calling, “Yoo-hoo!” to make the Page look up.

And when he does, he releases the flowerpot and hits his mark. The pot falls onto his head, and the Page collapses onto the ground unconscious.

Balthazar shimmies down and falls to his feet with a dull thud, steals the uniform from the Page, and enters the castle.

“I’m looking for Charlie Bradbury,” he says nervously to the first person he sees.

The gentleman points towards a young lady, so Balthazar squares his shoulders and takes a step towards her, though he feels more nervous than he ever has in his life.

“Madam Charlie Bradbury?” he asks as he approaches her.

“Yes?” she asks, turning to face him.

Balthazar gets one quick look at the most talented artist of their time and promptly passes out.

 

***

  
The moment the Baroness leaves for the ball, the servants all rush to the cellar door to try to free Castiel. Their attempts are frequent but fruitless, and Castiel has all but given up any hope that was remaining.

“Oh, Castiel. I’m sorry, it’s no use!” Ellen complains.

Suddenly Castiel hears a familiar voice. “Allow me,” Charlie says.

As if by magic, she removes the pins from the hinges of the door and pulls it open while Balthazar hurries to Castiel’s side.

“Oh, _brilliant!”_ Ellen says in awe.

“That was pure genius,” Bobby agrees.

“Yes, I shall most definitely go down in history as the woman who opened a door,” Charlie says sarcastically.

“Balthazar, how did you do this?” Castiel says in shock, taking in the sight of his friend in a Page uniform.

Balthazar shrugs. “Bobby said the Prince was expecting you.”

Castiel’s shoulders slump when he realizes he’s free, yes, but no closer to happiness than he was a moment ago. “He’s expecting someone who does not exist,” he says sadly. He turns to face Charlie and confesses his lie for the first time. “My name is Castiel and I am but a servant.”

“And I am the bastard daughter of a peasant. What does that matter?” Charlie asks flippantly.

“I have deceived him,” Castiel explains.

Charlie’s smile is kind when she responds, “And the Prince will understand.”

“The night is still young,” Ellen comments. “We must get you ready for the ball!”

Castiel shakes his head. “I do not wish to go.”

“If you stay, the Baroness wins,” Bobby tells him.

“But how can I face him?” Castiel laments.

“Because he deserves to hear the truth from the one he loves,” Charlie says.

“A bird may love a fish, Charlie, but where would they live?” he asks helplessly.

Charlie’s eyes light up along with her smile. “Then I shall have to make you wings,” she breathes, and Castiel feels excitement begin to fill him.

“Come on, now!” Bobby exclaims again. “No time to waste! Ellen, fetch the garments!”

 

***

 

The Prince is lying back on his bed, still feeling despondent and depressed when The King enters his bedchambers hours later.

“I understand you wanted to see me,” John says.

“Yes, father, I did,” Dean says, fighting to keep the sadness out of his tone.

“Dean, listen,” his father begins. “Perhaps it was unfair of me to put as much pressure on you as I did about the marriage contract. You seemed to be floundering, and I just thought it was time to urge you into making some changes in your life. I admire your bravery in wanting to change the law so you could follow your heart, and I hope you know I would never ask you to change who you are for anything.”

If Dean could feel anything, he’s sure he’d appreciate his father’s words.

“I just wanted to say that this university idea of yours is brilliant, and I’m so proud of you for thinking of it on your own. And I know things didn’t work out the way you wanted them to with that young man of yours, and... well... we do not have to announce anything tonight if you’re not ready.”

Dean’s voice is flat when he responds, “I’ve made my decision.”

“Oh," his father says in surprise.

***

 

Castiel can hardly believe the way his father’s clothing fits him like a glove. In his mind, his father was so much larger than him and broader of shoulder, but he must still be thinking of him through the memories of a child.

His trousers fit as if they were made for him, and the line of stones down each tapered pant leg glitters with every step. The fabric of his jacket is light and smooth, falling just above his knees and billowing behind him when he walks. The lapels shine with matching stones, his shoulders are adorned with short sky blue ribbons that dangle down his arms, and Charlie - _brilliant_ Charlie - has created huge, white wings for him as well. They’re made from a sheer fabric that reminds him of the kite he flew not so long ago, and the edges of each wing are wrapped in dozens of actual white feathers that they plucked from a chicken. He isn’t sure how Charlie did it, but there’s a shimmering dust sprinkled over each feather and it makes the wings look like they’ve come alive whenever the light catches them.

The same powder has been applied to his face in two triangles pointed towards nose and flaring out to his temples in a shadow of the wings on his back. Charlie had insisted on adding a semi circle of rhinestones across his forehead that disappear into his hair - like a halo, she said - which she styled herself into its usual wild fashion with streaks of shimmers throughout. He had balked at the idea of a hint of red applied to his lips, but had given in after a single stern look from Ellen and a knowing nod from Charlie.

When he looks at himself in the mirror for the first time, he can hardly believe his eyes. He’s never looked more stunning in his life. He looks and feels like an angel, and when he climbs into Charlie’s carriage with his head held high, he thinks for the first time he may just be worthy of the Prince after all.

“He looks like a masterpiece,” Balthazar says as Castiel disappears down the lane way.

“He looks like his daddy,” Bobby corrects.

“Come on, Balthazar. Let us go see these paintings of yours,” Charlie offers.

“Now?” Balthazar squeaks.

“Who knows how long we’ll have before the Baroness catches us both?” she says with a grin.

“Wait!” Ellen says. “He’ll wave at the gate - it’s tradition.”

Castiel raises his hand into a wave once he reaches the gate, and knows his father would be proud of him for what he’s about to attempt.


	5. Chapter 5

Gabriel makes himself at home at the food table, considering he wants nothing to do with whatever the Prince is about to announce.

His eyes are drawn to a pretty young woman with a round face and long dark hair across the table, also wearing a horse costume.

The woman smiles shyly when she sees their matching costumes.

Gabriel’s lips turn into a smile. She’s _beautiful_.

He does his best impression of a horse to see if he can get a laugh out of her. “Neiiigh.”

The woman across from him blushes and laughs, ducking her head before she grabs a carrot and bites into it like a horse would.

Gabriel bounces his eyebrows as he whinnies long and loud, eliciting another giggle from her.

Well, this just got a heck of a lot more interesting.

 

***

“This is it, my darling,” the Baroness says anxiously to Michael as the King gets to his feet.

“Friends, honored guests: it gives me great pleasure on this festive occasion to honor the artist Madam Charlie Bradbury... who seems to have disappeared for the time being... but also to tell you of a long-awaited decision. So, without further ado...”

Castiel reaches the top of the staircase and lifts his chin. _Breathe,_ he tells himself. _Just breathe._

“It is my great privilege to announce the engagement of our son, Prince Dean, to...”

Castiel exhales as he steps forwards out of the shadow and into the light, trying to remain calm when several faces turn his way. He sees the Prince’s head lift and would swear on his father’s grave that he can _feel_ the moment Dean sees him.

Dean’s sure his heart comes alive again the moment his brain catches up with the unbelievable sight his eyes are drawn to like a magnet: Charles is here. He came back! He didn’t leave him! He loves him back - he _knew_ he did!

He’s rushing through the crowd and towards him without sparing a thought for his parents, the crowd, the fact that he’s a man or anything else except for reaching his side as quickly as humanly possible.

“Well, well, well,” the Baroness says darkly as she takes in the sight of her wretched stepson here to steal the spotlight.

The closer Dean gets to Charles, the more wildly his heart beats. My god, he’s absolutely stunning. He looks every bit as heavenly as the angel he’s dressed up to be, and Dean knows in that moment he’ll never think of him as anything less. Finally, he reaches his side, and takes his hands into his own, looking deep into the blue eyes he thought he’d never get to see again.

“My mother said you were getting married,” he says breathlessly.

Charles shakes his head, smiling softly. “She was misinformed. But there is something I must tell you - now - before another word is spoken.”

All Dean can feel is relief, flooding into him and rushing through him as warm as a ray of sunshine on a winter’s day. “Then you’re not engaged?” he asks hopefully.

“No, I’m not,” Charles answers.

Dean steps closer, erasing what little space is between them and barely battling back the desperate need to kiss the man he thought he’d lost forever. He brushes the backs of his fingers against his cheek instead, hoping Charles knows how badly he wishes he could have more.

“I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life,” he confesses quietly.

Up at the front of the room, John looks at Mary questioningly. “Who is _he?”_

“My best guess would be the Count Charles Shurley,” she responds happily. She doesn’t care what gender this person is - just _look_ at the smile he put on her baby’s face!

“The who?”

“This is the man Dean would have us change the laws for so they can marry,” she explains.

John quirks a brow. “I’ve never seen the boy move so quickly in his life,” he says, amused. “We shall do so immediately.”

“Come,” Prince Dean says to Castiel, taking his hand and pulling him down the aisle towards where the royal family is waiting. “I want you to meet my parents.”

“Wait, _please,”_ Castiel tries to insist. “I must speak with you.”

“Whatever it is, my answer is yes!” Dean laughs.

Castiel tries again, tugging against his hand. “No, wait. Please!”

“Look, my love, I invited the Gypsies.” Dean’s eyes are lit with laughter as he waves to them while he continues to tug Castiel down the aisle.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Castiel asks breathlessly. Dean’s making a scene out of them all before he’s had the chance to come clean the way he needs to, and this isn’t how it was supposed to go. He must tell him the truth at once!

“Making you a Prince,” Dean answers, and Castiel’s heart soars at the promise. Dean truly does love him back. He wants to marry him! He just needs to talk to him first, before -

But of course, that’s the moment the Baroness steps forwards out of the crowd and rips one of Castiel’s wings clear off his back with fury all over her face.

“How dare you?” she hisses at him.

Dean is at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around him protectively and radiating anger like Castiel has never seen until now.

“Madame, contain yourself!” Prince Dean bellows.

“He is an imposter, Sire!” the Baroness shouts back.

“No!” Castiel cries.

He knows being robbed of the opportunity to admit his mistakes to Dean himself is going to ruin _everything,_ and to have it stolen from him by the woman he hates most in the world is a devastating mix of infuriating and crushing.

“His name is Castiel and he has been a servant in my home for the last ten years!” the Baroness continues as if Castiel hadn’t protested at all.

“A _servant,_ Dean?” King John asks him curiously. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

“Baroness, you are on dangerous grounds!” Dean warns her.

“Ask him yourself!” the Baroness dares him, standing her ground. “He is a grasping, devious little pretender! And it is my duty to expose him as the hoax that he is!” She turns her attention to Castiel next. “Tell these people who you are, Castiel! Tell them!”

Tears are streaming down Castiel’s face as he shakes his head in defeat. He was so close. Moments away from his wildest dreams coming true. _Why?_ Why must she take this from him so cruelly?

“Bow before royalty, you insolent fraud!” the Baroness shouts once more.

When Prince Dean turns to face him again, there’s a pleading look on his face as he seems to consider she may be telling the truth. “My God, it can’t be true,” he whispers. “Charles, please?” he begs.

Castiel’s face crumples and his heart breaks as he’s forced to confess his lies to the Prince in front of an audience of hundreds who he knows will not understand. “Charles Shurley was my father. I am what she says,” he whispers, his voice cracking on the last word.

The crowd erupts into a flurry of scandalized whispers all around them.

Understanding dawns in Dean’s eyes and Castiel can all but see it as the pieces seem to fall into place in Dean’s mind. “The - the apple. That was you, wasn’t it?”

“I can explain,” Castiel says, still desperate for a chance to tell the Prince that he didn’t mean to deceive him and _never_ meant to hurt him.

“Well, someone had better!” the King erupts with.

Dean’s voice is soft, but his eyes betray his pain and anger. “First you’re engaged, and now you’re a servant?” Castiel opens his mouth to point out that he was never actually engaged and that he never knew love until he knew him, but Dean cuts him off before he can begin. “I’ve heard enough!”

Determined to say his piece and knowing his time is running out, he chases after Dean when he begins to walk away from him. “Dean, please!”

Dean freezes and the audience murmurs loudly, and Castiel is suddenly hyper-aware of the mistake he’s made, which causes dread to wring another sob out of him.

Prince Dean turns back around to face him, and for the first time since he’s known him, his voice is hard and authoritative towards him.

“Do not address me so informally, sir,” Dean says loudly, so everyone can hear. “I am the Prince of France.” Dean’s voice drops into a whisper, and Castiel can see the tears glittering in his eyes when he speaks this time, just to him. “And you - you are just like _them.”_

Castiel feels his words hit him like a slap in the face, and he breaks down in sobs as his heart cracks in two, knowing for certain that there is no fixing this now. He covers his mouth with his hand to try to stifle the sobs that are ripped from his throat and knows he must leave immediately. He can’t handle all the staring and whispering, and it’s only just begun. He turns and runs as fast as he possibly can back down the grand staircase, feathers flying from his wings and landing on the stairs behind him as he makes his retreat.

He sees Charlie but races past her, ashamed by his failure as well as the emotional state he’s in, feeling nowhere near strong enough to face her right now.

“Castiel! _Castiel!”_ Charlie calls after him. When Castiel just runs by looking absolutely destroyed, Charlie surmises what’s happened and hurries into the palace to find her thick-headed friend.

It takes some time, but finally, she locates him sitting on the ground leaning back against a wall with a brown bottle in his hand, looking more miserable than she’s ever seen him.

“What have you done?” she asks him.

“I was born to privilege and with that comes specific obligations,” Dean recites automatically. It’s the same thing that’s been echoing in his head ever since the first moment he turned his back on Charles - no, _Castiel._ Fuck, even his name is beautiful.

“Horseshit!” Charlie curses passionately. “You were willing to overlook the fact that he’s a man, but not that he’s a servant?”

Dean gets to his feet as anger simmers within him at being spoken to this way. “You’re out of line, Charlie!”

“No, _you_ are out of line!” she argues, not backing down, and instead, poking her finger into his chest. “Have you any idea what that boy went through to get here tonight? He loves you!”

“He _lied_ to me!” he explodes, knocking her hand away.

“And then he came to tell you the truth and you fed him to the wolves!” Charlie shouts right back.

Dean scoffs, but deep inside he feels regret for his actions. If he owed Castiel anything after their time together, it should have been to treat him with kindness.

“What do you know?” he says defensively. “You build flying contraptions and walk on water. You live in a world full of fantasy and know _nothing_ of real life.”

“And you know nothing of _my_ life!” Charlie replies, pinning him with a sad look. “I have loved and lost, Dean, and _I know_ that a life without love is no life at all.”

Sadness washes through him as he thinks of the painting he saved ( _“It is my life!”)_ and he knows she’s telling the truth, but even so, there’s nothing he can do about Castiel. How can he forgive him for what he’s done to him?

“And love without trust?” he asks, knowing he can’t even pretend that he hasn’t fallen in love with him in front of Charlie. “What of that?”

Charlie shrugs. “He is your match, Dean,” she says simply.

“I am but a servant to my crown,” Dean spits, angry all over again by her voicing his own private thoughts and using them against him. He doesn’t have a choice! “I have made my decision and I will _not_ yield!”

Thunder crashes in the sky above them as the perfect punctuation to Dean’s words. Charlie reveals the single feather she had picked up from the staircase and lies it upon the ledge next to Dean.

“Then you do not deserve him,” Charlie declares sadly, doing nothing to hide her disappointment in her friend as she turns to walk away from him.

  
***

Castiel thought he knew misery. He thought his life was as lonely as it could possibly be, but now, knowing that he’s lost the only man he’s ever loved with no hope at all of ever getting him back, he feels despair hanging over him like a rain cloud. No matter what he does, no matter how busy he keeps, no matter how frequently he keeps pushing the memory aside, he cannot stop thinking about the betrayal in Dean’s voice before he walked away from him last night.

He pauses when a shadow falls over him, and turns to see the Baroness standing there. They haven’t spoken since the ball, and he knows something awful is about to transpire.

“I have it on good authority that before your rather embarrassing debut, the Prince was about to choose Michael to be his husband.” Castiel does what he can to keep his expression blank, but something dreadful twists inside of him. “Men are so fickle, aren’t they? One minute, they’re spouting sonnets and kissing servants in front of a bonfire -” Castiel’s blood runs cold when he realizes she found out about that “- and the next, they’re turning their nose up at the stink of the hired help. Although, I must admit, I’ve never seen you this dedicated in your chores. Guilt, perhaps?”

Castiel gets to his feet. “What makes you think I do any of this for you?”

Naomi's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but she smiles as if this is funny and steps in front of him to block his way. “My, my, my. Aren’t we feisty this morning?”

“Let me pass,” Castiel says between clenched teeth.

“You’ve brought this on yourself, you know,” she comments.

“I have work to do,” he reminds her.

“Let the others handle it.”

“Don’t you understand?” Castiel replies. “You’ve won!” he exclaims bitterly “Go and move into your palace and leave us be!”

The Baroness smiles evilly. _“You_ are not my problem anymore.”

Another wave of fury rolls through Castiel. “Is that what I am? Your _problem?”_ She arches a brow but doesn’t deny it, and though Castiel would be loathe to admit it, he feels sadness deep inside his heart. “I have done everything you’ve ever asked me to do, and still, you’ve denied me the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

“And what was that?”

“What do you think?” he replies sadly. “You are the only mother I have ever known,” he admits quietly. Knowing that things are as rocky between them now as they’re ever likely to be, he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for years. “Was there a time - even in its smallest measurement - that you loved me at all?”

“How can anyone love a pebble in their shoe?” she answers with her voice cold and her expression hard.

It was as he had suspected, but God, does the confirmation just drive another splinter of hurt into his already shattered heart. Does no one love him? Is it something he's lacking?

They both look up as Ellen throws the shutters open and calls, “Castiel! My lady, come and see! It’s all back! All of it!”

Castiel furrows his brows, but Ellen must mean the missing items, and when the Baroness finally moves aside he rushes forward to see Monsieur Alastair standing in front of a wagon overflowing with the items that have gone missing from the manor. He’s still trying to make sense of what he’s seeing when his stepmother speaks.

“Ah, Monsieur Alastair! Right on time.”

“It’s all here, Baroness... right down to the very last candlestick,” Alastair announces, his high-pitched voice causing a shiver of disgust to move down his spine. His slaves are already unpacking everything and bringing it into the house.

Castiel’s eyes are drawn to Gabriel when he says, “Father’s books? His paintings? You - _you sold them_ to him?”

“Yes,” the Baroness says simply. “And now they’re back. I couldn’t have us looking like paupers when the King arrives.”

Castiel grits his teeth again, but says, “Thank you, Alastair. This means the world to us.”

Alastair smiles his creepy smile. “I’m a businessman, Castiel, not a philanthropist.”

Castiel squints his eyes in confusion. “I don’t understand.” What could the Baroness possibly have to offer as a trade for all of this loot?

“I couldn’t have you around distracting the Prince,” the Baroness supplies.

Castiel feels the first curl of dread. Surely not...?

“The Baroness and I have come to... an arrangement,” Alastair explains.

“You - for all of this,” the Baroness clarifies. “Though I do think I’m getting the better end of the deal.”

“No!” Castiel cries. She can’t _sell him_ like an item. He belongs to himself! “No! No!”

Ellen and Bobby both rush towards him as Alastair’s slaves grab him and bind his hands behind his back. “Castiel! Castiel, no!” they shout, but before they can get to him, he’s locked in a cage on the back of the wagon and he falls to his knees as he’s ripped away from the only home he’s ever known.

 

***

 

This is the most foolish thing Dean’s ever done, and that’s _really_ saying something.

A week after the masque, Dean agreed to marry the Spanish Princess after all - even though he not only doesn’t love her, but couldn’t even pick her out of a lineup if his life depended on it.

It seemed like a fine idea at the time. He was wallowing in despair and regret and heartbreak. He knew he’d never be happy without Castiel; he misses him so fiercely already. He knew he’d never give his heart to another and risk this pain - this all-encompassing pain that just won’t go away no matter what he does - ever again. So he figured he might as well make his father happy, make Spain happy, and become a King all in one go by agreeing to the contract.

But now, here he is on his wedding day, standing at the altar in the finest clothes he’s ever worn while a choir sings hymns with his bride-to-be absolutely _wailing_ across from him.

He’s trying to keep a straight face, but _God_ this is humiliating! Nobody told him the Spanish Princess was as against this as he is, and his heart breaks for her as well as himself.

“No. Por favor, no, por favor,” she begs, tears and mucous streaming down her face.

Dean can understand her distress, but what’s he supposed to do? They’re quite literally being blessed be a priest as they stand here. Needing a break from the pleading look in her eyes, he looks away and catches the eye of the man the Spanish Princess keeps looking over at. He, too, is wiping tears away, and the look of heartbreak all over his face makes it suddenly crystal clear why this woman doesn’t want to marry him.

She loves another. Well, Dean can relate.

“No te cases conmigo,” she begs him again, choking on her sobs. He knows enough Spanish to know she’s asking him not to marry her, and just like that, the absurdity of the situation overcomes him, and laughter bubbles out of him. Before he can even attempt to stop it, he’s laughing harder than he’s laughed - well, since he spent the day with Castiel, actually.

And as if all of this was that simple all along, he knows he doesn’t care about anything else but being with Castiel. He knows he’ll only ever love him. He knows he still wants to be with him even if he did lie to him. He knows he still wants to marry him even if he is a servant, and even if he ruined his chance and Castiel refuses to speak to him ever again, he refuses to be responsible for tearing two other people apart who might love each other as much as he and Castiel did.

“Madame, I know exactly how you feel,” he replies finally.

He bends to kiss her gently on the cheek, and then gestures that she should go join the man standing on the sidelines. Her eyes bulge, fresh tears fall, and she _runs_ towards the man and leaps into his arms, kissing him over and over again while they profess their love for one another.

Without glancing back at his parents, Sam, or the Spanish King and Queen who are already protesting loudly, he hurries out of the church.

He climbs onto the back of his favorite horse and takes off towards the city still in the clothes meant for his wedding. All he can think of is getting to Castiel. Begging for his forgiveness and spending every moment of the rest of his life making up for the insensitive imbecile that he was.

Having figured out by now that Castiel is step-brothers with Michael, he can only imagine the trouble it would cause for him to knock on the front door of the manor, and so he’s at a loss for where to go from here. Perhaps he could look for Charlie? Maybe she would know how else to find Castiel.

Just then, he spots the man Castiel had freed from the slave trader the first time they met standing beside the carriage of the Baroness. He rides to his side and blurts, “Where is she?”

The man - Robert? No! Bobby, Dean remembers - asks, “The Baroness?”

Dean frowns. “No! Ch- Castiel.”

His heart flutters. That’s the first time he’s ever said his real name out loud.

Bobby’s eyes go wide and apologetic. “But he has been sold, Sire.”

Dean’s blood runs cold. _How dare_ she sell Castiel like property!? “Sold?” he echoes. “To whom?”

“Monsieur Alastair, Your Highness. Just after the masque.”

He knows exactly who that is. He’s old, he’s slimy, and rumors have been swirling for years about how he pays to have lovers of both genders. Fear coils tight and dark inside of him at the very thought of what horrors Alastair may be subjecting the man he loves to.

“Tell no one we have spoken,” Dean tells Bobby urgently. “For all shall reveal itself in due course.” He takes a deep breath and turns his horse back around. “There is much to be done.”

 

***

 

Castiel carries a tray with Alastair’s dinner on it and taps his knuckle on the dining room door. His hands are bound with two iron shackles, and his task is made that much harder because of it.

“Enter!” Alastair calls, and Castiel pushes through the door with his head held high to bring him his meal. Alastair leers at him and comments, “Oh, I do so hate to see you in irons. I’d remove them, if only you’d promise not to run away again.”

Castiel pins him with an icy glare as he lays his tray on the table. He would have gotten away if he’d known the way around the house better. It was foolish to try to run when he wasn’t more familiar with his surroundings, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly through the fog of fear in his mind.

“I have no reason to stay,” he answers.

“You belong to me now,” Alastair declares.

“I belong to no one,” Castiel reminds him. “Least of all you.”

Alastair curls his lips into a sinister smile, revealing his rotting teeth and making Castiel’s stomach roll. “Oh, I do wish you’d reconsider my offer.”

His stomach clenches with disgust when he remembers Alastair’s _offer_ to claim him as his own - in bed.

“I would rather rot,” Castiel says coldly.

“Sit,” Alastair commands him, and Castiel takes a seat for the first time in more hours than he can remember. “I had a horse like you once,” he says, getting to his feet and running his hand along Castiel’s shoulders as he steps behind him. “A magnificent creature. Stubborn, just like you. Willful to a fault. It, too, just needed...” he drags one dirty finger down Castiel’s cheek as he continues, “to be _broken.”_

It takes everything in him not to recoil from the touch. “You will maintain your distance, sir.”

As Alastair’s hand curls around his throat and slides down his chest, his eyes dart to the knife Alastair would be using to eat his meal right now if he had just left him alone.

“Oh, you didn’t say _please,”_ Alastair teases.

Castiel’s hand darts out to close around the handle of the knife before he whirls in his seat and holds it directly to Alastair’s throat. He maintains eye contact as he gets to his feet again.

“Please,” Castiel growls.

Alastair throws his hands up in surrender, but his smile doesn’t fade. He thinks Castiel is bluffing.

“I could hang you for this,” Alastair says.

Castiel stares him down and responds, “Not if you are dead.”

“I do love your spirit,” Alastair says, calling his bluff by lunging for him. Castiel slices his cheek with the blade and waits for his hands to dart to his wound before lunging for the sword hanging loosely from its scabbard at his hip.

He points the sword at Alastair’s chest directly over his heart, causing Alastair to stumble before he falls back into the chair he was in only a moment ago. Castiel feels a sick pleasure when he sees that a flicker of fear is now visible in his eyes.

“My father was an excellent swordsman, Monsieur. He taught me well,” Castiel threatens him. “Now hand me that key, or I swear on his grave I will slit you from navel to nose.”

Alastair snarls, but reaches slowly for the key in his pocket. He holds it up with hatred written all over his face. “Your freedom, sir.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we start to go off-script a bit. Please be willing to suspend disbelief regarding gay marriage in the 17th century for the sake of the story :)

Dean rides his horse as fast as he can back to the palace and directly to Sam’s room. He bursts through the door without knocking and finds his brother flat on his back on his bed with a book propped up on his chest.

“Sam!” he gasps.

“Might I suggest you return to where you've come? Father’s still as red as a tomato and charging the hallways like a bull,” he replies lazily.

“Sammy! Put the damn book down and listen to me for a moment! I’m serious.” Sam sits up and looks at him questioningly. “The Baroness - she - she _sold_ Castiel.”

“The guy you embarrassed at the masque?” Sam asks.

Dean tries not to let his thinning patience show. “Yes. That’s not important right now.”

“I'm not sure I agree,” Sam says, shaking his long hair out of his face. “If Castiel’s been sold because of what happened, he might think differently. Have you considered that he might not even want to see you after what you put him through?”

“SAM!” Dean bellows, causing him to shrink back with his hands raised in surrender. “We have to go rescue him! Immediately!”

Sam laughs in disbelief. “I don’t know a thing about organizing rescue missions, Dean! And if the Baroness actually sold him, we can’t simply steal him back. He’ll come after us for revenge!”

“I’m the Prince of France, Sam. What do you propose a slimy bastard like Alastair is going to do to me?”

Sam seems to consider that before finally nodding his agreement. “What did you have in mind, exactly?”

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Dean confesses. “But we need to go immediately. I can’t even begin to think of all the ways Castiel could be hurt right now.”

Sam gets to his feet and Dean starts towards the door. “You truly love him, don’t you?”

“I truly do,” Dean responds as they hustle through the hallway. “Enough to make you take on my cursed duties as king.”

“What?” Sam squeaks. “You can still be king even if you marry a male. I know mom and dad already drafted the new law. It only needs two remaining signatures of the Royal Party, and nobody dares to go against Father.”

“Yes, I’ll still be king. But when I can’t further our bloodline, who will our parents turn to next? You’ll be the father of the future king or queen. Surely that's a monumental duty,” Dean says, grinning now despite the fear he still feels inside of him for Castiel. Sam’s eyes go wide with panic, and he even stumbles over his next step. Dean wraps his arm around him and gives him a healthy slap between his shoulder blades. “Perhaps it would be wise to concentrate on one problem at a time, hm?”

“Fine idea,” Sam breathes shakily. “How are we going to get him free?”

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Dean responds, still utterly clueless.

He and Sam each climb onto the backs of their chosen horses, and they take off towards Alastair’s together. They decide to separate in order to cover more ground and meet out front once they have the lay of the land.

Nobody is more surprised than Dean when he rides around to the back of Alastair’s residence and finds Castiel himself walking out the door. Fear runs through him when he notices he doesn’t look well. He’s still gorgeous, of course, but his clothes are absolutely filthy and it’s obvious even from several feet away that he hasn’t been permitted to bathe in quite some time.

He doesn’t care about that, though. He doesn’t care in the least. He dismounts and runs towards him. Castiel startles as if he hadn’t seen him until now, and raises a hand self consciously to his unkempt hair. Without knowing exactly what he’s supposed to say, coupled with the shock he’s feeling at seeing Castiel walking out of the house of his own free will, Dean blurts, “Hello.”

“Hello,” Castiel responds, and his voice is low and grittier than he remembers. He’s also far more handsome than Dean recalls. He must not have shaved recently because his facial hair is thick enough that it looks soft. Dean wants to run his palm along it to feel it against his skin. He doesn’t have a chance to recover enough to speak again before Castiel asks, “What are you doing here?”

He feels a blush rise to his cheeks at the hard tone of voice Castiel's now using. Sheepishly, he says, “I, erm, came to rescue you.”

Castiel scoffs halfheartedly. God, it’s good to see Prince Dean again. He never thought he’d have the chance, and as hurt as he still is over everything that happened between them, he can’t seem to stop stealing glances at the man he still - foolishly - loves.

“Rescue _me?”_ Castiel echoes, walking away from him. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance at refusing the look of open affection and regret written all over Prince Dean’s face if he continues to look directly at it. “A commoner?”

“Actually, I came to beg your forgiveness,” Prince Dean amends. “I offered you the world, and at the first test of honor I betrayed you.” Castiel feels his heart fill with the sincerity of his words, but still refuses to face him. “Please, Castiel.”

His breath catches hearing the Prince say his name - his _actual_ name - for the first time. He feels his resistance begin to crumble. He turns to face him, wanting to see the way those lips of his move to form his name. “Say it again,” he begs.

“I’m sorry,” Prince Dean says, and Castiel can’t help the huff of a laugh that escapes him at Dean’s willingness to apologize again.

“No,” he says, and he’s smiling now. “The part where you said my name.”

“Castiel,” Prince Dean repeats, and now there’s a hint of a smile on his face as well. Then he opens his overcoat and pulls out a rather large white feather still gimmering with what Castiel’s come to think of as fairy dust. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to help me find the owner of this rather remarkable feather.”

Castiel’s smile grows. “Where did you find that?”

Prince Dean smiles shyly, and Castiel notices for the first time that they seem to have gravitated towards each other, though he doesn’t recall making that decision. “He is my match,” Dean declares, gazing intensely into his eyes. “In every way. Please. Please tell me I haven’t lost him.”

Castiel’s heart clenches with a mixture of excitement and fear. He loves Prince Dean, he does. But he already turned his back on him for who he is once. What’s to stop him from doing it again? Can they even be together with the fact that he’s a man and a commoner?

“It belongs to a peasant, Your Highness, who only pretended to be a courtier to save a man’s life.”

“Yes, I know,” Dean responds. “And the name’s Dean, if you don’t mind.”

They’re both grinning like lunatics now, and while there’s a part of him that’s screaming at him not to forgive this man as easily as his heart is allowing him to, another part just feels so happy when he never thought he’d be happy again.

Dean gets down on one knee and says the words he never thought he’d say, let alone mean. “I kneel before you not as a prince, but as a man in love. But I would feel like a king, if you, Castiel Novak -” Dean tucks the feather behind his ear and runs his fingers along it gently before he follows the path to trace his jaw with his finger tips. Love is shining brightly in his eyes when he finishes with, “- would be my husband.”

All of the emotions - the fear, the heartbreak, the helplessness - Castiel had been feeling since the masque are eclipsed by joy and love as easily as that. His breath comes out in a shuddering sob and he buries his face in his hands as his shoulders shake with his silent weeping. He’s entirely overwhelmed with the depth of his feelings towards Dean, and he suddenly has an acute need to look into his eyes.

He removes his hands and glances up, and the moment he sees Dean up close again, happiness conquers everything else and his sobs turn into laughter as he launches himself into Dean’s arms.

Dean surges to his feet with Castiel in his arms, feeling stronger, braver, and richer than he’s ever been in his life all because he has the man he loves pressed against him again. With joy overpowering any sense of propriety he knows he should adhere to, he spins Castiel around in a circle and buries his face into his neck. He isn’t certain who makes the first move, but they’re both turning their faces inward, and their lips meet in an uncoordinated kiss that sends relief and love rushing through him nonetheless.

He withdraws only to better realign their mouths, and when their lips meet again, it’s magical. It’s a true love’s kiss. It’s everything he’s always wanted and never believed he’d get to have. The seal breaks when Dean is flooded with more joy than he’s ever felt and begins laughing. Castiel joins in, and Dean continues to spin him around and around, soaking in every moment for all its worth.

He hears a horse approaching from behind him and sets Castiel back down on his feet before he looks over to see his brother with a rather large smile on his face. Castiel’s body goes rigid, and Dean realizes in amazement that two of the most important people in his life have yet to meet.

“Castiel, my love, this is my brother,” Dean says, taking his hand and leading him towards Sam. “Sam, this is Castiel. My fiance.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up and Dean realizes belatedly that Castiel never actually said yes. He turns towards him and the question must be written all over his face because Castiel responds breathlessly, “Yes, Dean. Yes, I would be honored to be your husband,” before he leans in to kiss him soundly. Dean’s hands slide up his back to sink into his hair, and he licks at the seam of Castiel’s mouth, desperately needing more now that he knows he can have it forever. But Castiel keeps his lips resolutely closed and Dean groans playfully before he tears himself away.

“Gross,” Sam complains, but Dean just laughs. He’s so incredibly happy.

“Get used to it,” Dean beams.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sire,” Castiel says with a small bow.

Sam hops off of his horse and waves the formality away before he offers his hand for Castiel to shake. “Please. We are about to be family. Address me as if we are equals.”

“I just realized that once we wed, Castiel will have more status than you will,” Dean says with amusement.

Castiel balks at that. He doesn’t want status. He only wants Dean. “Let us not speak about that, please. I only want your love,” Castiel says honestly.

“Then you’ll have it. Forever,” Dean promises. “Will you accompany me back to the palace? There’s much that must be done.”

Castiel thinks of the palace. He thinks of Dean’s parents. He thinks of the fine clothing Dean is currently dressed in while his clothing is beyond soiled, and panic flares through him.

“Please - please don’t introduce me to the King and Queen before I bathe,” Castiel asks, suddenly nervous. “I’m afraid my personal hygiene was rather low on the list of Alastair’s priorities.”

“And yet your beauty still takes my breath away,” Dean says, causing Castiel to smile. “Before we depart, I must know: did he hurt you, Castiel? I will be back for him, and he will pay with more than money for thinking he can purchase the man I love like property, but if he hurt you, I will storm into his residence in my next breath and bring more pain down upon him than he ever dreamed possible.”

Castiel raises a hand to his fiance’s handsome face. “Your valor is admirable, but I do not need a white knight. I saved myself, if you’ll recall.”

Dean’s smile couldn’t possibly grow wider. “Isn’t he amazing?” he asks his brother.

“Seems as if he’ll keep you on your toes in any event,” Sam comments approvingly. “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

“And I, you,” Castiel replies. “Dean speaks of you with very high regard.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” Sam responds, making them both laugh. “We really should be returning to the castle before Alastair comes looking for us.”

Dean nods and leads Castiel to his horse, offering him a hand to help him up.

“I am quite capable of mounting a horse without assistance,” Castiel tells him with a smile upon his face.

Dean grins at him in return with a shrug. “Which does not lessen the desire to assist you in the least.”

“This is going to be great,” Sam comments to himself as he gets back onto his own horse.

Castiel smiles at Dean and accepts his hand. Dean knows he doesn’t need his help and wants to help him anyway. How could he possibly fault him for that? He wraps his arms around Dean when he climbs onto the horse in front of him. He leans against his strong back, and his eyes drift closed as relief overcomes him when they leave the prison of Alastair’s house in the dust.

 

***

Getting Castiel home, bathed, and groomed in order to meet his parents formally for the first time is a longer process than he expected. Dean was adamant that their servants would heat the water for Castiel’s bath, but Castiel explained he’d been bathing in tepid water or in the lake for his entire life, and so they butt heads over that. Dean barely won that disagreement, and knows he only did because the servants had already heated the water and Castiel wouldn’t refuse their work. Dean had also urged Castiel to leave his beard, but Castiel insisted on shaving to make the right impression upon his parents. He had pouted, but once he could see Castiel’s handsome face again all soft and smooth, he found there was nothing to complain about.

Once the servants left after emptying the bath, it was a test of Dean’s willpower to watch without touching as Castiel dressed himself in Dean’s clothing. He looked absolutely stunning dressed in such well fitting clothes again, and Dean discovered a new source of arousal seeing Castiel wearing clothes that belong to him. It struck something deep and primal inside of him: satisfying a need to visibly claim the man he loves for all to see that he didn’t even know he had.

He isn’t nearly strong enough to keep his hands to himself once Castiel is fully clothed and surges up to catch his lips in what he’s sure was meant to be a brief kiss, and he ends up losing his head and backing him up against the door. Any tiny shred of control he was maintaining dissolves the moment their bodies press together again, and Castiel melts against him, parting his lips eagerly this time and allowing him access to the wet heat of his mouth. He relearns the inside of Castiel’s mouth, which way to move his tongue to make Castiel groan into his mouth, and inhales the scent of his soap on his skin for the first time. His head is spinning with a delicious combination of lust and love, and he knows with absolute certainty that he will never get tired of being kissed like this.

A knock on his door is what causes them to break apart, and hearing his mother call out, “Dean? May I come in?” is enough to cause his eyes to go wide and Castiel to let out a rather frightened sounding squeak.

“It’s alright, angel,” Dean promises quietly, kissing him once more softly to soothe him. “There is nothing they could do to keep us apart.”

“They could _arrest me!”_ Castiel reminds him in a harsh whisper, panic suddenly swirling inside of him like a tornado.

“They wouldn’t,” Dean assures him. “Well, father might try, but mother would never allow it,” he amends, which _really_ doesn’t help to ease his nerves. “Breathe,” he prompts him, urging him to take a step back so he can open his door to his mother. “Hello, mother,” Dean greets her.

“Darling, you mustn’t run off like that! One of these days you’re going to give your father -” She stops abruptly when her eyes fall upon Castiel. “Dean,” she says sternly.

“Mother,” Dean says bravely, taking a step back and wrapping his arm protectively around Castiel’s waist. “May I present Castiel Novak, my fiance.”

The Queen’s eyes go wide for the briefest moment before she schools her expression into something much more closed off. She strides towards him and Castiel immediately bends into a bow. The Queen smiles and says, “It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Novak.”

“Castiel, please, Your Highness,” Castiel responds. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

Her eyes are glittering with amusement when she looks at Dean again. “How on earth did you convince this well-mannered young man to accept your hand in marriage?” she teases.

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Dean grins, “but I would appreciate it if you assist me in maintaining the illusion that I’m anywhere close to the man he believes me to be.”

“What are mothers for, dear, if it isn’t to boast about our children?” the Queen responds. “May I enquire about what the two of you were doing behind closed doors without a chaperone?”

Castiel feels his cheeks darken with a blush but Dean’s smile doesn’t fade in the least. “Probably exactly what you think we were doing. At least until you knocked on the door," he jokes.

“Dean,” she scolds him. “Castiel, please allow me to apologize for my son’s poor manners. I assure you it isn’t a reflection upon how he was raised. He just has an incredibly thick head.”

“With all due respect, Your Highness, I have contradicting information on that matter considering I knocked him off his horse after hitting him with a single apple,” Castiel replies, starling a laugh out of Dean and a giggle from Mary.

“This sounds like a story that needs to be told at once. Will you accompany myself and Dean to our sitting room? I’d also like to fetch the King and let him know we have a most esteemed guest in our midst.” She stops to look at Dean again and says, “ _And_ ensure the two of you are not alone in my son’s bedroom until your wedding night.”

Dean doesn’t look ashamed whatsoever, but he does press his palm to Castiel’s and leads him out the door behind his mother while their fingers slide together.

 

***

 

The meeting with his father goes much better than he could have anticipated. Not only was he too busy making a good impression with Castiel to ream him out for leaving the Spanish Princess at the altar, he presented Dean with the new amendment of the law allowing any two consenting adults to marry regardless of their gender or status.

When relief and bliss speared through him, Dean had completely forgotten about the specific company he was in, and pulled Castiel into a bone crunching hug where they clutched each other tightly for a long time until both were so happy they had to wipe their faces clean when they broke apart.

Once they calmed down, Dean and Castiel worked together to explain what happened with the Baroness and Michael - including how they tricked the Queen into thinking they found her necklace to get on her good side - using each other to fill in the missing blanks, and they talked all the way through to how Castiel ended up sold to Alastair. The King himself had guaranteed Castiel’s protection, and Dean had never held as much respect for his father as he did in that moment.

The four of them and Sam (once Dean convinced them to allow him to be part of the discussion) worked together at how to best plot their revenge upon Michael and the Baroness. Both his mother and father were irate with the way they had all been played by them, and were not only willing but were eager to participate in the plan Sam had conceived. They also planned an incredibly small and intimate wedding ceremony for he and Castiel the very next day, not willing to take even the slightest chance of anything going wrong between now and then if it can be avoided.

When Dean retired to his bed chambers that night, Castiel was tucked safe and sound into the guest room down the hall with a guard stationed at the door (because his mother knows him far too well). Despite knowing that he’s sharing a roof with the man he loves for the first time in his life, he falls asleep easily, comfortable with the knowledge that this will be the last night he ever sleeps in this room alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Standing at the altar with Castiel before him, looking more dazzling than anything he’s ever laid his eyes upon before, is an entirely different experience than the last time he stood here. The room is empty save for his parents, his brother, Charlie, and the family priest who was kind enough to perform the ceremony. They've all been sworn to secrecy in order to carry out the second half of Sam's plan, but all of that is completely insignificant, because his heart is currently galloping like a horse in his chest, and regardless of who filled the room, it would be impossible to look anywhere except for deep into the cerulean eyes of the only man he’s ever loved.

When they're pronounced bound for life, Dean steps forwards to claim Castiel’s lips with his. The instant their lips meet, the entirety of the world falls away. It's slow and soft, unbelievably comforting, and right in ways only his words would never be. One hand rests upon Castiel’s neck, his fingers brushing the soft hair at the back of his head, while his thumb caresses Castiel’s cheek as their lips slide together oh-so-sweet. His other hand runs down the blissful bend of Castiel’s spine, pulling him closer still until there is no space remaining between them, and finally, he can feel Castiel’s heart beating against his. 

He feels home.

They break apart, resting their foreheads together as their breaths mingle, and both become aware of the cheering from their family around them for the first time. Their smiles are brighter than the sun. They're _married,_ and happier than either of them dreamed they would ever be.

The King’s servants worked tirelessly through the night to prepare a secluded wing of the castle for the newly wedded couple, and after a meal more scrumptious than Castiel could have dreamed, they retire to their new bedchambers. They are both hard and eager long before their garments begin falling to the floor one by one, peeled from one another’s bodies with gentle, reverent fingers. They map each other’s skin as it's revealed, anxious to discover what makes the other’s breath hitch. Each new inch of skin is caressed, tasted, and treasured. Sighs, groans, and incoherent sounds of pleasure are devoured like sustenance. 

Their inexperience makes every moment more exciting. Castiel spills almost immediately when Dean’s nimble fingers wrap around him for the first time, and watching his husband find such pleasure from him has Dean adding to their mess only seconds later. After they catch their breath, their lips find one another again, and with mouths trailing over miles of exposed skin, damp with sweat and shining in the candlelight, they both harden again quickly. 

Even lying atop one another is not enough, and lost with pleasure, Dean finds the courage to ask for more. 

“Please, darling,” Dean begs.

“Anything, my love. I could no sooner say no to you than I could stop my heart from beating,” Castiel replies, his voice dry and raspy.

Dean licks his lips and clears his throat before he can find the words he needs. “Will you let me inside of you?” Dean asks him tentatively.

Castiel’s eyes go wide. “Are you - are you suggesting sodomy?”

Dean closes his eyes as a forbidden thrill runs through him. He buries his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck, pressing open mouth kisses along the column of his throat and over the bruises he already left there. “If you are hesitant, or at all uncomfortable with the idea, I don't want to push you. I only wish to share myself with you in every way I can. I understand -"

“I want to be as close to you as humanly possible,” Castiel interrupts him, arousing Dean impossibly more before he continues, “but I will admit I’m - I’m fearful.” Castiel’s voice is barely a whisper, and Dean captures his lips in an offer of comfort, kissing him until the body he’s now so familiar with begins to relax against him.

“I love you to the ends of the earth,” Dean says after he pulls away. “And I promise you I will be as gentle as possible. I wish to be with you, sweetheart, but never to cause you any pain or discomfort.” He gets up to his elbows and reaches into a drawer on the table next to their bed, producing a jar of oil with his face as red as Castiel has ever seen it. “This will help to ease the way.”

Castiel’s eyebrows pinch together. “How do you know of this?”

Dean clears his throat. “A rather uncomfortable but extremely educational conversation with a friend that I would rather not repeat,” he says with a shy smile. “But I will admit I have been able to think of nothing but your enticing backside ever since.”

“Truly?” Castiel asks, clearly skeptical.

“The desire to learn what you might feel like with me inside of you...” Dean says, punctuating his words with a roll of his hips and a bitten off groan. “I thought I would never have that at all, but loved you more than enough to accept it. But now knowing it’s possible, I have never desired anything more.”

“Then yes,” Castiel breathes. “I wish to bring you pleasure in every way that I can, my love.”

Dean groans again, capturing his lips in a needy kiss that leaves them both panting. “You are everything I dreamed of and more,” Dean praises him. “Roll onto your stomach for me, Your Highness,” Dean teases, getting a soft huff of laughter before his husband turns over, rendering him breathless all over again.

“How do I look?” Castiel asks, looking over his shoulder with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

Dean spreads Castiel’s legs and runs his palms up the back of his legs to settle upon the swell of his ass cheeks. “Absolutely sinful,” Dean sighs, kneading his soft skin in his hands and getting a soft sound in response from his husband. “Do you get pleasure from this?”

“Yes,” Castiel sighs. “It feels so deliciously wrong.”

“My god, you _are_ perfect,” Dean praises him again, believing it with everything that he is. He drops chaste kisses to each cheek before he reaches for the jar. “This should continue to feel good,” Dean tells him. “Swear to me you’ll tell me if you feel any pain.”

“I will,” Castiel replies, though his voice is small. 

Dean spreads the oil onto his fingers, his heart beating quickly just from the slickness on his skin, before he runs a single digit along Castiel’s tailbone, down his crack and over his hole. Castiel bucks back against his finger with a gasp as he reaches his opening, and Dean freezes. “Too much?”

“No, no,” Castiel answers quickly. “That felt surprisingly good.”

A new pang of desire throbs inside of Dean. “I’m very pleased to hear that,” he says as he begins circling his hole with his fingertip. He applies gentle pressure, increasing it ever so slowly each time Castiel’s body relaxes until he breaches his center for the first time and slides inside of him into his first knuckle. He kisses across Castiel’s shoulder blades while his other hand strokes up and down his spine, soothing him with soft caresses and every endearment as he can think of until finally, he relaxes enough for him to push his entire finger inside. 

“Just like that, my love,” Dean tells him. 

Now that he’s inside enough to search for what he needs to find to make this pleasurable for his husband, he curves his fingers towards his navel and begins stroking his inner walls. Castiel’s breathing is getting increasingly steadier, so he's completely caught off guard and freezes when he prods something firmer and rougher than everything else and Castiel calls out loudly. 

“Cas?” Dean asks questioningly, daring not to hope that he found what he was looking for so easily.

“Wha-what was that?” Castiel asks.

“Did it feel good?”   


“Far greater than good,” Castiel replies. Dean’s eyebrows shoot up as he prods it again, and again, he gets a deep moan from his husband. “Oh, Dean,” Castiel whines. “More, please.”

“How I love you,” Dean says, happily continuing to stimulate his sweet spot with each thrust of his finger. Dean’s mesmerized by the tight heat clenching down around him, and has to do focus entirely on what he’s doing. He loses his patience the moment he begins to fantasize about how good it will feel to have this kind of pressure on his cock, and that’s the last thing he needs to happen here with Castiel tonight. He quickly learns that the more pleasure Castiel gets from his fingers, the easier he opens for Dean. One finger turns to two, and then three, and finally, they’re both ready. 

Dean gets onto his knees and slathers his achingly hard cock with the oil. Castiel rolls over onto his back and Dean nearly spills again then and there from the sight alone. Castiel’s cock is flushed a dark red and the tip is smeared with clear fluid, proving to Dean just how much he’s been enjoying the preparation. And his face? Lord help him. He has a beautiful flush spreading from his cheeks all the way down his neck and to his muscular chest. His lips are bitten red and swollen, his eyes are glazed with pleasure, and his dark hair is sticking up in many different directions.

“You are the most stunning thing I have ever seen,” Dean tells him honestly. “Countless times more beautiful than even the most magnificent sunset. More so than that,” he says, frustrated with his lack of poetry for the moment that deserves it more than anything. “I wish I knew the words to tell you.”

“I know precisely how you feel,” Castiel replies, his voice low and husky. “You are so very arousing, Dean. Look at you stroking yourself. I’ve never seen anything so enticing.”

Dean smirks, feeling proud and powerful knowing that his husband finds him pleasing to look at. He lowers himself into the vee between Castiel’s open legs, bracketing Castiel’s upper body on his elbows and meeting Castiel half way when he leans up for a kiss. It’s been far too long since he’s tasted those lips, and he kisses him passionately, licking into his mouth and feeling love mixing with his all-encompassing desire. He’s calmed with every swipe of his husband’s tongue and grounded by every sweep of his big hands along his back. 

Now feeling more like himself and less like a lust-driven monster, he takes his oiled cock in hand and positions himself until he’s pressed snugly at Castiel’s entrance. He has to close his eyes, bite down on his bottom lip, and breathe deeply as he feels just how slick and warm Castiel’s skin is against the sensitive crown of his cock.

“We haven’t even begun yet, and still, this is more exciting than anything I’ve experienced,” Dean confesses quietly. “Thank you for sharing this with me, for giving yourself to me in every way you possibly can.”

“I am yours, Dean,” Castiel answers. “In every way imaginable.” Dean can’t help kissing him once more, and it’s Castiel who pulls away to say, “Go ahead.”

“You will tell me -”   


“I will,” Castiel says firmly, and Dean can read the truth in his too-blue eyes.

Dean inhales deeply before he pushes into his husband for the first time. He moans while he moves further into the incredible warmth and unbelievable tightness that surrounds him little by little, still watching every flicker of emotion on Castiel’s face. He stops - though it’s the very last thing he wants to do - when he sees pain flood into Castiel’s eyes, but Castiel grits his teeth, shakes his head, and pulls Dean in by his backside so that he has no choice but to keep sinking into heaven on earth.

“I’m alright,” Castiel whispers, but his voice is hoarse and it doesn’t  _ sound  _ as if he’s alright. Once he’s in as far as he can go, he stills. He claims Castiel’s lips lustfully, offering up every trick with his tongue he’s learned that Castiel enjoys, and dutifully ignoring the way his cock is being squeezed by the softest, most appealing vice in existence. 

Castiel’s hands come to rest on his face, stroking his cheeks lovingly until he guides Dean away. “I’m alright now,” Castiel says.

“You said that before,” Dean accuses.

“I just needed a moment to get used to it, as I did with your fingers at first. I guessed it would get better with time, and it did. I’m alright, darling,” Castiel promises. “I’d like you to start moving within me. I’m quite certain I’ll feel much more than alright if you manage to find that spot inside of me like this.”

“I shall make it my mission, then,” Dean says with a smile. Very carefully, he pulls out and thrusts back in a handful of times, until he feels like Castiel has really loosened up for him. Knowing it’s just a matter of angles, he urges Castiel to wrap his legs around his waist, tilts his hips upwards, and connects on his first try. He knows he hits his mark because Castiel calls out loudly as he tosses his head back with  unrestrained pleasure. 

Castiel is more beautiful like this than he could have imagined, and being with him in this way is easily the most sexually gratifying experience he’s yet to have. Though he’s already spilled his seed once, he can feel the heat building inside of him already again. The view of his husband in the throes of passion, the overwhelming pleasure of being buried deep inside of the man he loves, and the forbidden act they’re taking part in has his arousal spiking much more swiftly than he would have liked.

“It’s ludicrous just how good this feels,” Dean tries to explain, hips pistoning into his husband again and again. Castiel’s arms are splayed out on either side of him, his fingers fisted in the sheets as his body rocks with Dean’s in a rhythm as easy as it is sweet. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make this last as long as I wish it could.”

“I’m -” Castiel exhales sharply as Dean thrusts into him again. “- enjoying this much more than I thought I would. I suppose we’ll just have to keep -” He groans, his voice so low Dean can feel it vibrate against his chest. “- practicing until we get it exactly right.”

“I love you so much,” Dean says, smiling wide. “I want you to find your pleasure as well, Castiel. Let me see you take yourself in hand.” When Castiel goes red with embarrassment, Dean leans in for another kiss. “I want to watch you. I want to see you come apart while I spill inside of you, my love.”

“Dean,” Castiel gasps. “When you talk that way...”

“You get pleasure from it, don’t you?” Dean asks, smirking. “Stroke yourself for me, Castiel. Show me how much pleasure I give you.”

“S-so much,” Castiel stutters as he wraps his hand around his leaking cock. “I feel so full with you inside of me.”

“Oh, Cas,” Dean groans, thrusting into him harder now. He watches the way Castiel’s cock slides in and out of the tunnel of his fist with each stroke and matches his pace with his thrusts. Each time the glistening head is visible through his fist, Dean slams into his prostate, and Dean can feel the heat gathering inside of him. “It feels so good, my love. Watching you fuck your fist -” Castiel gasps at the curse word, but he knows it’s a  _ good _ gasp. “- is so sexy. So thick and wet with your arousal. I want to see you spill for me, Castiel.”

“Dean,” Castiel whines. “Dean, please.”   


“Tell me what you need.”   


“Faster,” Castiel gasps. “Harder. I want you to - to -” Dean picks up his pace, slamming in and out of him now as Castiel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes closed. “- fuck me harder, Dean,” he growls, and hearing Castiel swear for the first time causes his pleasure to peak. He fucks into him as hard as he can, hearing the way their skin slaps together over and over as he fights valiantly against the heat that’s burning him from the inside out. 

Castiel shouts out suddenly and clamps down on him tighter than ever, and the sight of his husband spilling all over his chest for the second time throws him over the edge he was clinging onto, and sends him head-first into the most intense orgasm of his life.

His body locks up, heat courses through his veins like fire, and his vision whites out as his cock throbs and he empties himself with a strangled cry inside of his husband for the first time. 

_“Dean!”_ Castiel chokes out, and then Dean’s being pulled into a wet and messy kiss. Castiel thrusts his tongue into his mouth and coaxes his own to respond before he sucks on the tip and Dean groans again when he feels as if he sucks his spend right out of his cock. 

He rests his forehead against his husband’s while they draw in needy breaths, both of them slick with sweat and boneless with exertion and ecstasy. He collapses onto him entirely, knowing that Castiel can take his weight, and nuzzles into his neck, pressing a chaste kiss there while he works on trying to catch his breath. 

He feels Castiel’s lips on his temple and his hands on his bare skin when Castiel tells him, “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

“I love you, Castiel Winchester.”

Castiel chuckles. “That sounds odd, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds exactly right to me,” Dean disagrees. “Although I could call you Your Highness if you would prefer.”

“And I could call you a pain in my rear-end - quite literally at the moment!”

Dean winces as he pulls out of his husband, and feels a secret thrill run through him when his seed comes out with him. “Are you in pain, Cas?”

“I love when you call me that,” Castiel confesses, smiling. “And there is a dull pain for now, but it’s not unpleasant at the moment. Just a physical reminder that I allowed my husband to take my virginity on our wedding night.”

“Did you enjoy it?” 

“I believe the evidence of that is currently stuck between us,” Castiel says on a laugh. “Of course I enjoyed myself, Dean. Honestly, I feel quite lucky to have chosen such a giving lover as my husband.”

Dean feels pride bloom deep within him even as another curl of desire makes itself known. He turns onto his side, pulling Castiel with him until they’re facing one another. “I have so much more to share with you.”   


“More than what we did tonight?” Castiel asks.

“Much more. The conversation I had earlier was extremely educational.”   


“I look forward to a hands-on learning experience, Your Highness,” Castiel says, leaning in to press their lips together once more. His face goes suddenly serious, and he says, “You have given me more joy in the last twenty-four hours than I have had in a lifetime, Dean. I will never be able to thank you enough for loving me as you do.”

Dean shakes his head, absolutely rocked to his core to hear this man - the man who saved him - thank him as if he has done anything but stumble into the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You have no idea how much you’ve changed me,” Dean confesses. “The first time I spoke with you was the first time I felt  _ real _ . The first time you showed you believed in me was the first time I ever believed in myself. The first time I touched you felt like the first time I had really touched anything. And the first time I made love to you is the first time I’ve ever felt complete. You brought me to life, Cas. It is I who will be thanking you until the end of my days.”

Castiel sighs happily and scooches forwards to kiss him once more. “I suppose we shall both live happily from this day forth then, won’t we?”

“Oh, I do believe so, Your Highness," Dean teases again. 

"Especially after tomorrow,"  Castiel smiles, but this time, it’s an icy smile borne of the desire to get revenge upon those who have hurt him and held him back his entire life.

“As appealing as you are when you look so dangerous and angry as you do now, let us keep this space - our bed - a place of love and contentedness,” Dean says, brushing Castiel’s hair off of his forehead.

“Any bed I share with you will always be full of that and more,” Castiel promises. “I did promise you forever, in case you have already forgotten,” he says with a smile.

“You are so much more than I ever deserved,” Dean says honestly. “Let me get us something to clean up with, and then we can lie here all night with you in my arms.”   


“That sounds heavenly,” Castiel answers. 

And it is indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so first of all, I'm so sorry it took so long for me to update! If you didn't already know, I got sucked into my first ever "pretend relationship" fic, and I wrote that from beginning to end rather quickly.
> 
> I am back now, and this is the only other thing I'm currently working on. I think it's only going to take another chapter to wrap this up. I hope the smut wasn't too unpleasant to read. I know it wasn't up to my usual standards, but it was extremely difficult to write. Two virgins together using old fashioned lingo was h a r d.


	8. Chapter 8

“How is it that watching you get dressed is just as arousing as when you get undressed?” Dean asks, approaching him with a predatory smile on his face.

Castiel can’t even begin to hide the smile he responds with as he finishes stepping into his newest pair of trousers. “If I allow you inside of me again I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk at all," he teases.

Dean laughs, but Castiel sees the blush on his cheeks as well. Dean had woken him up once in the middle of the night with soft kisses and whispered endearments, and it hadn’t taken much before Castiel had offered himself again. When he woke this morning he could feel Dean hard against him once more and it had his desire stirring rather quickly. He only had to rub himself against his husband’s hardness a handful of times before Dean’s lips were on his skin and he slipped into him for a third time as the sun rose.

Castiel enjoyed making love with Dean more each time, but once he was no longer in the throes of passion, he discovered he was most definitely feeling raw and overused. Honestly, he’s in more pain than he would ever want Dean to become aware of, so thankfully, he’s used to dealing with and hiding pain.

He melts back against Dean now when he encircles him in his arms from behind, and smiles when he feels his lips on his bare shoulder. “Are you in pain, my love?”

“Only a little bit,” Castiel lies. “I’m afraid I may need a bit of a break in order to recover. I apologize.”

“Don’t you dare,” Dean says immediately. “You’ve given yourself to me in ways I never would have imagined.” Thoughts of his conversation with Charlie swirl around in his head, and Dean purposely softens his voice before he continues, “Once our official duties are completed for the day, I believe I have just the way to make it up to you.”

“You’re going to have to let me dress first,” Castiel teases him.

Dean takes a step back with a smile on his face, and then his blood runs cold when he sees long, raised strips of skin, marred and grotesque on Castiel’s back. His fingers trail over them softly as he wonders how on earth he didn’t see these last night.   
“Castiel,” Dean says carefully, barely keeping hold of the anger he’s feeling at the mere idea of somebody hurting a man such as Castiel in this way. “What - what caused marks such as these?”

Castiel clears his throat and steps away to slip into his undershirt. He wondered if Dean hadn’t seen them in the candlelight last night, and it seems he was right to come to that conclusion.

“I do not wish to speak of it,” he says quietly.

“Oh, darling,” Dean breathes, ignoring his wishes completely and turning him around so that he can pull him into his arms. Castiel goes willingly, nestling his head onto his chest and allowing Dean to wrap him up in the safety of his arms. “I promise you I will do everything in my power to ensure you never feel pain again.”

“I’m alright now,” Castiel promises.

“Even still. Tell me who hurt you, and I shall ensure they feel the same pain tenfold.” Castiel shakes his head, clearly still not wanting to talk about it. “They’re healed too well for it to have been Alastair. Who was it?”

“Dean, please,” Castiel says quietly.

Dean strokes his spine lovingly, wanting to tell him without words that he loves him just the same as he did before he saw the scars. He’s wondering how one would deal with the pain these wounds must have inflicted with all of the labor Castiel had to do on a daily basis when a horrifying thought occurs to him as he remembers the way Castiel called out in pain in the ruins. It was right after he touched his back, wasn’t it? When was that? The night after he realized he was in love with him, wasn’t it? He thinks back to the night, his blood freezing in his veins when he thinks about the way he had Castiel pushed back against that cave.

He’s suddenly holding Castiel at arms length to look into his eyes. “That day in the ruins. You were hurt then, weren’t you?” The way Castiel drops his gaze is enough to confirm his suspicions. “Was it me?” he whispers. Castiel looks back up in confusion. “Please, Castiel. Please tell me if it was I who caused you this pain?” He can barely choke out the words. “When I lost my head and pressed you against the wall of rock? Did I do this to you?” he asks, his heart already breaking into a million pieces at the thought.

“No, Dean,” Castiel says quickly, his hands coming up to cup Dean’s face, soothing him with his touch. “Not only would I never have allowed you to cause me this kind of pain, you would never be so careless. Every touch from you is so full of love, it’s not even a possibility. It wasn’t you, darling.”

Dean’s body floods with so much relief he feels lightheaded. “Thank god,” he sighs. But then his eyes narrow when he keeps thinking. “If that’s the case, you weren't in any pain that night, but you couldn’t stand me touching you by midday the following day. What happened to you in between?”

Castiel breathes heavily through his nose. “I did not perform my duties, Dean. I overslept. I woke with a heavy head from the mead, and spoke quite rudely to the Baroness.”

Dean goes rigid with anger. “I will kill her with my bare hands. She - she _whipped you_ for sleeping in?” he whispers, unable to even reconcile the indulgence with the punishment.

“No, that was only the beginning,” Castiel confesses. He takes another deep breath. “I truly do not wish to speak of it, but Michael...” He takes another deep breath as pain runs through him anew. “He wanted to wear my costume for the ball, to entice you. Those clothes belonged to my father, and I was not going to allow somebody such as him to soil my father’s memory with his ill intentions, especially not to lure you of all people. I was angry. I was tired from the night before, and Michael... he made a comment about my father’s death and fury overrode my good thinking.” He looks straight into Dean’s eyes when he says, “I punched him.”

Dean’s lips quirk into a smile and his eyes fill with love. “There’s the man I know and love. Bet he dropped like a sack of manure, didn’t he?”

Castiel smiles despite himself. “His feet flew right up over his head,” he admits, and unbelievably, he laughs when Dean does. “I would maintain that the whipping was worth getting to finally give that monster what he deserved for once, but... Michael also threw my father’s copy of _Utopia_ in the fire,” he whispers.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean answers, wrapping him in his arms all over again with so much pain audible in his voice Castiel feels his eyes begin to water. “I’m so sorry. You have more compassion, kindness, and love in a single finger as that poor excuse for a man has in the entirety of his body, I can assure you that,” Dean tells him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “He will pay for what he’s done to you. I know nothing will bring back the book that meant so much to you, but I will personally ensure neither Michael nor the Baroness will ever have another moment of happiness for the rest of their lives.”

Castiel nods against his chest and pulls him in even tighter. He was completely ignorant until now what such words of kindness, understanding, and comfort could do to heal the pain inside his soul, but he feels as if Dean’s patching him up with everyone. He takes a deep breath to give him the courage to lift his head and press a kiss to Dean’s plush lips. Another comfort he was completely clueless about until Dean. “Although I do wish I hadn’t lost my father’s book, every moment of the past is what lead me here to you, and so I cannot find fault in any of it.”

“Cas,” Dean whispers, leaning in to kiss him so tenderly Castiel’s heart aches. “I have never done anything to deserve a love such as yours. I love you more than I can say.”

“And I you,” Castiel responds. “Now, if we can manage to part for more than five minutes, I’d like to continue getting dressed.”

Dean laughs, seeing as how he’s managed to distract him away from that after all. “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to it or it will never be fully accomplished,” Dean teases. “I need to speak with my mother in any case. Find me in the sitting room when you’re ready?” Castiel nods and Dean leans in to kiss him once more before he leaves the room. “I love you.”

Once he’s in the hallway and free from Castiel’s gaze, he allows the rage he had been holding in to take over his body. His fists clench at his sides, and he stalks quickly through the castle to find his mother. After inquiring with a servant, he finds her in the small sitting room off of her bed chambers.

“Mother, I must speak with you,” he says quickly.

“Good morning to you too, my handsome prince,” she says with a smile. “I must say, I was expecting you to have more of a bounce in your step this morning of all mornings. Is everything alright?”

Dean flushes when the meaning of her words strikes him. “Yes - _that_ was all well and good, believe me,” he answers. “I don’t have much time before Cas joins us, but when we were dressing this morning I discovered scars that are still healing from the Baroness whipping him.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” Mary says. “Is he alright?”

“He says he’s fine, yes.”

“What was it he did to earn such a whipping?” she asks.

“He punched Michael in the face,” Dean says proudly. “Dropped the smarmy son of a bitch, too.”

Mary lifts her brows at the language and the circumstances. “Was that recently?”

“Yes, mother. The last time I was out all night.”

“Interesting. I happened to get a good look at the black eye on Michael’s face the next day, and I must say, that husband of yours certainly knows how to throw a punch,” she says.

Dean beams with pride before he shoves it down and gets to the point. “But it was nothing compared to what he deserved for the crime he committed.” He briefly explains what Michael did to Castiel’s book and is pleased to see that his mother is almost as angry as he is about it. “I know the original plan was to only punish the Baroness, but now that we know that Michael is just as bad, I suggest we punish the lot of them.”

“Hmmm,” Mary says, her smile spreading slowly. “He _did_ lie to the queen.”

 

***

"How was I supposed to know he'd run out of the side door? He was supposed to be getting married!" Gabriel says to her mother and brother.

"I heard the Prince talked to you. What did he say?" Michael demands.

Gabriel plays stupid. "Well, I can't be sure, you know. It all happened so quickly. But I think what he said was, 'It serves me right for choosing a foreigner over your brother.'"

Gabriel has to force himself not to roll his eyes at the gleeful laughter Michael and his mother share.

"Well, very good," the Baroness says. "Perhaps we should just let him stew in regret for a few days." Michael nods in agreement with a smug smile upon his lips.

Just then, the doorbell rings. 

Both Michael and the Baroness shout, "I'll get it!"

Gabriel barely holds in his snort of laughter. That was almost too easy.

 

***

 

Captain Laurent arrives at the Manor in a rather magnificent carriage. Before he’s even stepped foot outside of it, he sees the front door open and the Baroness with both sons standing behind her.

He approaches and bows to them. “His Supreme Majesty, King John, requests an audience with the Baroness Naomi DeGhent and her sons immediately.”

“Oh. Is anything wrong?” the Baroness asks.

“No, milady,” he answers. Then he smiles secretively as he was instructed and says, “The King demanded that you arrive in style.”

The Baroness’s eyes light up with glee. “Then in style we shall be,” she replies, and the Captain distinctly hears a squeal of delight once the door is closed between them.

 

***

 

A large crowd of courtiers are gathered in the throne room. The Baroness sees the King and Queen both sitting upon their thrones, with Prince Dean standing to one side looking absolutely stunning with his crown upon his head.

As she and her sons hurry into the room, she curtsies, and before she’s raised her head, she hears the King say, “Did you, or did you not lie to Her Majesty the Queen of France?”

She’s sure her heart must drop into her stomach as her mouth opens and closes while she searches for a way to get out of this. She looks at the Queen, but is met with an icy glare.

“Choose your words wisely, Madame, for they may be your last," the Queen threatens.

She clears her throat nervously and offers, “A woman would do practically anything for the love her son, Your Majesties.” When she gets no reaction, she continues. “Perhaps I did get a little carried away.”

“Mother, what have you done?” Michael booms from behind her. Before she can scrape her jaw off of the floor, he’s stepped in front of her. “Your Majesty, like you, I am just a victim here! She has lied to us both and I am ashamed to call her my family!”

Rage pumps through her at her son's audacity. “How dare you turn on me, you ingrate!”

“You see what I have to put up with?” Michael asks the King and Queen.

“Silence! Both of you!” The King bellows. Then he turns to Gabriel. “Good lord! Are they always like this?”

“Worse, Your Majesty,” Gabriel says honestly, smirking at the look of shock all over his mother’s face.

“Gabriel, darling, I’d hate to think you had anything to do with this,” the Baroness says under her breath.

“Of course not, mother,” Gabriel lies. “I’m only here for the sweets.” Understanding flashes in her eyes, and Gabriel smiles broadly now, not at all ashamed of the side he's chosen.

“Baroness DeGhent, you are forthwith stripped of your title.” If Queen Mary pauses only to enjoy the flinch upon her face, that’s nobody’s business but hers. “You and your horrible son are to be shipped to the Americas on the first boat. Unless, by some miracle, someone here will speak for you?”

The Baroness looks around desperately. Seeing no one make a move to defend her, she turns back to the Queen and says, “There seem to be quite a few people out of town.”

“I will speak for her.”

Castiel’s voice rings loud and clear through the room, and it only takes a moment for her eyes to fall upon her stepson... and the crown perched upon his head.

“She is, after all, my step mother," Castiel finishes.

As Castiel steps forwards, the Baroness sinks to the ground with bile in her throat. “Your Highness,” she whispers.

“Michael,” Dean says suddenly. “I don’t believe you’ve been introduced to my husband. The newest Prince of France."

Michael gets to his knees before them with a scowl etched into his features, and Castiel holds his head high. Oh yes, this moment is everything he ever wanted and more. He doesn’t even look down at them as he speaks.

“I want you to know that I will forget you after this moment and never think of you again.” He gets a sick thrill of satisfaction when he glances down to see both pairs of eyes trained resolutely to the ground. “But you, I am quite certain, will think about me every single day for the rest of your life.”

The Baroness has to clear her throat of its dryness once more before she has the courage to ask, “And... how long... might that be?”

Castiel’s lips twitch, but he turns to face his mother-in-law with a straight face. “All I ask, Your Majesties, is that you show her and Michael the same courtesies they have bestowed upon me.”

Castiel walks back to his husband’s side, and relaxes against him when he feels Dean’s arm come around his back and land on his hip. He feels his heart may actually burst when Dean whispers, “I’m so proud of you,” into his ear. He watches happily while the Queen tells them both of the positions they will hold working in the laundries of a castle in the Americas among several other servants. Baroness and Michael are escorted out of the room while Michael cries and pleads the entire way out, and once the room is emptied of the courtiers, he falls into Dean’s open arms.

“It’s over,” Dean promises him, holding him tight and kissing the side of his head. “No one will ever hurt you ever again.”

They pull apart when they hear Charlie clear her throat. Once Castiel’s eyes fall upon the painting of the moment he stood at the top of the staircase, dressed in his father’s garments and his wings glimmering on either side of him, he actually shouts out with pleasure. “Charlie! It’s wonderful!”

“Think of it as a belated wedding present, Your Highness,” Charlie replies.

Castiel’s smile is cut short when Balthazar starts laughing. “What?” Castiel asks him.

“I just can’t get over it, that’s all... _Your Highness,”_ Balthazar teases.

“Yes, well, royalty or not, I can still whip you,” Castiel promises.

Balthy laughs, and Castiel walks over to get a closer look at the painting with his husband.

“I must say, Charlie, for a woman of your talents, it doesn’t look a thing like him,” Dean quips.

Castiel pokes him in the ribs, getting a snort of laughter Dean fails to contain before telling him “You, sir, are _supposed_ to be charming.”

Of course, Dean takes the opportunity to prove just how charming he is, and Castiel gives in quickly when Dean leans in to capture his lips with a soft and lingering kiss. Castiel winds his arms around his neck and melts against his strong body. When they break apart, Dean runs his thumb across his cheek and Castiel gazes up at him with all the love in the world visible in his eyes.

“And we, my Prince, are supposed to live happily ever after,” Dean tells him.

Castiel arches a brow. “Says who?”

Dean frowns and then exhales on a huff of laughter. “You know, I don’t know. But I think they may be right.”

“I know they are,” Castiel replies, more sure about that than anything before.

 

***

 

Castiel clears his throat, dry and weary from talking more than he has for years, before he finishes his story for the Grimm Brothers.

“My portrait hung in the university my husband built every day of his life. When the end came, the truth of our romance had been reduced to a simple fairy tale between a man and a woman." He chuckles quietly as he thinks of the silly tale. "I try not to let it bother me, knowing that Dean and I had more love and happiness in our lives than could ever be written into a story in the first place." Memories of many years filled with intimacy, learning, and laughter flash behind his closed lids in an instant, filling him with a bittersweet mixture of joy and such deep longing to be reunited with the only man he's ever loved that he needs a moment to calm himself.  
  
_Just breathe._

"After all, while Cinderella and her Prince did live happily ever after, the point, gentlemen, is that they lived.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah. Made myself tear up there at the end.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this :) Dean and Cas really do deserve their happily ever after, and I'll give it to them as many times as I can.


End file.
